Spreading Shadows
by AdamantiumDragonfly
Summary: Just when Lockwood and Co. thought the Problem was over, they must cross the English Channel to fight back the tide of phantoms that is flooding France.
1. Chapter 1

We thought it was over. How naive of us.

Finally, we could venture out at dusk, only a few wisps of mist and other light to be seen. No more outbreaks of deadly proportions. No more silent spectors stalking the streets at twilight. Ghosts were now slowly fading back into the past where they belonged.

Our rapiers lay unused in the umbrella stand, spiders spinning webs in their ornate handles and our kit bags sat disgruntled in the corner gathering dust. The casebook sat neglected in the office, the last case dating back three months before. (It had been a small shade, nothing of any major excitement) . the office itself, was rarely entered, used mainly for storage now.

Lockwood had started working on transferring agencies into law or research fields. George had begun work on his first volume of research on The Problem, set to be published in the spring. Holly and Kipps had stopped coming into work as agents, stopping by only in the afternoons to play cards and have a cup of tea. I spent most nights at home, managing to get normal hours of sleep as I was no longer chasing visitors all over London. It had been two years since we closed the gate to the Other Side. We thought a new leaf had been turned over. We thought it was over.

Then Barnes called.

I remember that day vividly. No amount of concentration could ever dispel it from my mind. We were sitting in chairs in the library, tea and cake on the table, books or magazines occupying our time. The warm summer sunshine trickling through the window, setting the glass in George's spectacles and the smooth wood varnish on the furniture sparkling. George was working on his writing, Holly was peacefully reading and Lockwood lay curled on the couch. I listened to Kipps snore in the corner.

I closed my eyes, sighing happily. Anthony was -despite his best efforts and because of mine- still alive. The Problem was melting away like snow come spring's warm sun. A comfortable warmth blanketed us.

Then the phone rang, which disturbed the atmosphere greatly. Lockwood groaned, extracting himself from the thick red blanket we had curled under and stumbled into the hall. I slowly, groggily sat up right, my hair a thick brown curtain over my eyes.

We hardly had any clients now, the only interviews we had these days were with reporters on our thoughts about the Problem. "Wouldn't we miss working?' "What would the agencies do now?" "What if the problem returned?"

I had let Lockwood take these questions. The truth was, yes, I would miss the tang of steel on ectoplasm. No, I didn't know what we would do. I felt like a part of me, the only piece I was happy with, the thing that made me confident in my own skin, had been ripped away.

Who was I if not, Lucy Carlyle, psychic agent and speaker to type-three ghosts? I was adrift at sea, a little ship tossed on the waves.

Pushing my hair out of my face, I sighed. I needed a cup of tea. No sooner had the tea been poured and adequate amounts of sugar and cream been added did Anthony return, a hardened expression chiseled onto his face. His face was lined, it had been for as long as I had known, prematurely aged from years of hard work and burdens placed on his shoulders early. And now, he looked as if another weight had been placed on his back.

"Lucy?" he said.

"Yes?"

"We need to go to France."

Kipps snorted, sitting up abruptly. George dropped his pen, sending it clattering across the hardwood. Holly looked up from her book, her eyes wide with shock.

Me? I took a sip of my tea.

"Really? How nice?" I looked up at him. "And why do we _need_ to go to France?"

With Lockwood, you have to act unconcerned when he makes very surprising declarations like that. It annoys him and lowers the melodrama during the rest of the conversation.

Lockwood sat down beside me on the sofa. "That was Barnes on the phone. The Problem, it's moved. "

I placed my hands around the teacup, savoring the warmth ebbing from it.

"Let me finish my tea before we go," I said. "I doubt the French know how to make a proper cup."


	2. Chapter 2

*this chapter contains some OCs that I am so excited about. Special thanks to my sister for proof reading this chapter and to my cat, Lockwood for eating the first draft of this chapter, that really did suck*

I had never once left the island of Great Britain. I had sworn to my sister, Mary, that I would live or die a northerner. I had gone so far as to joke that you would never catch me -dead or alive- in France. Perhaps the latter was about to come true.

George had not volunteered to join our first expedition to France, his book's deadline and angry editors looming in the distance, instead, threatening us with dismemberment if we didn't write him all of the details. He would join us as soon as the final edits where into his publisher. Holly had also declined. Her family was missing her, she had just moved into a new flat and, seeing as this would be the first of what Barnes had told us would be many trips across the channel, she vowed to join us at a later date.

So it was just Lockwood and me on the deck of a ferry, bobbing across the channel. The sea wind whipped in my face and the faint smell of kelp wrinkled my nose. Lockwood's forearms were braced against the railing, pressing against my own.

One would say that we had grown ever closer since I no longer had to worry about saving his neck everytime we went out. We spoke more, touched each other without fear but much blushing. That was when we thought the problem was over. Now, it seemed, we were back to square one. Clandestine touches and stumbling words.

Barnes's call had shocked me, I was not going to lie. The Problem was back, appearing in rural France with two deaths by ghost touch and spreading rapidly much like the first problem, no one knew why. No one could understand why.

The French Government sent for aid in Britain, we were the only country with this kind of knowledge or forces necessary. As a result, DEPRAC sent in the cavalry, meaning Lockwood and I, with three new agents under us.

We would go to Paris, assess the situation and report back.

A simple recon. Discover the extent of the spread. Try and put a stop to it.

I sighed, looking over my shoulder at the kids we would be supervising for the rest of the trip.

A scrawny youth, about fourteen, who's glasses seemed to be slipping down his crooked nose constantly. That was Seamus Keefe, with a decent power of touch.

The freckled-faced girl who sat next to him on the bench, shook her head, sending brown curls bouncing exuberantly. Her wide eyes were like an owl, wise and large. Jane Fox, thirteen, Listener.

Knees tucked up to her chest, was small mousey Asha Pence. Her hair, brown, eyes, brown, clothes, brown. She shrank away from everyone else, trying to bring as little attention to herself as possible. Her power of sight, according to Barnes was unmatched. Her courage could do with some work, I noted.

These kids were under out watch. We would have to protect and advise them. Most of them had never left London, let alone the country. A sudden rush of instinct rose up in me. I would die for these three kids, fight tooth and nail to protect them.

Whoa.

Where had that come from?

Anthony took my hand in his. " What are you thinking about, Luce?"

I pinked a little at the sudden contact but I smiled. "Not much. It's strange, isn't it? How we all thought the Problem was gone. Even these kids wouldn't have been old enough to join an agency at the height of the Black Winter."

"They saw the end of The Problem," Anthony agreed. "And now its a war they have to fight in."

"It isn't fair," I said, softly. "These kids being forced into this."

"We were too."

"No, we were different. My talent was different. I had to become an agent, you as well."

"Being an agent gave me purpose." Anthony whispered, staring out at the stormy sea, the wind tousled his hair marvelously."

His face turned stony and rugged, and his eyes hardened like they did when he was posing for dramatic effect.

"Your brooding again, Lockwood."

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"I don't really notice."

"I do."

"You called me Lockwood," he said suddenly. He didn't look angry, just mildly confused. Like he couldn't fathom this change in my manner. "You never call me Lockwood anymore."

"Yes, I did call you Lockwood, Lockwood."

"But why?" he gave my hand a rather rough squeeze, pulling me tighter against him. I laughed, pretending to draw away. "It took me five years to call you by your first name. I don't want these kids to think they can right off the bat. No special treatment, you see?"

"So…" he tilted his head, thinking for a moment. "I should call them by their surname?"

"Yes. Only Ms. Pence, Ms. Fox, and Mr. Keefe."

" I do have to keep up my standards, don't I?"

"Of course, _Lockwood_ ," I said, smiling out at the sea. I could see the mist curling off the water, twisting strands of green and blue threading through the gray. It looked almost like ectoplasm but that would be ridiculous. Ghosts hated the water. Besides, we were still miles off from land. I turned around, moving closer to the front of the ferry, avoiding cars and people who had also noticed the fog. I stopped against the far railing, the water sending froth and spray into the air.

I had seen smog before. Hell, I had lived in London but this was something entirely different. It was as if the umbrage that obscured all of the horizons was something beyond just sea fog. I had seen something like this rolling off the creeping shadow in Aldbury Castle and it had hung thick in our romp on the Other Side.

The Black fog swirled with blues and greens and seemed to ebb with other light. It blanketed all of the coasts, blocking out all light.

"What is that Ms. Carlyle?" Jane asked, appearing beside my elbow. I didn't speak. I didn't know what to say.

It was Asha who spoke, in a quiet, barely audible monotone. "It's death. Death drowning us."

 **Hey guys! Thanks so much for reading. Please be sure to review if you enjoyed it and want to see more. I have an idea of where I want this story to go. It definitely won't be a multi-chapter fic, I just can't handle those at this time in my life but I'm thinking of it as a collection of one-shots that follow the same starting idea. I have about four chapters more planned and I'm also trying to work on a consistent upload schedule. So stay tuned!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Just wanted to address a question that a guest left on the previous chapter regarding Lucy and Anthony's relationship status in my headcanon. In my world here on Adamantium Dragonfly, they have both accepted that they have feelings for each other but because of the nature of their professions and the reemergence of the Problem, they have placed any continuing relationship on hold.**

 **TL: DR- They love each other but they paused their relationship cuz they got ghosts to stop.**

Our hotel room overlooked The Seine, the river glowed silver in the moonlight as the orb climbed higher in the inky-black sky. We would have to leave soon.

Ghost lights had been hastily erected along the streets to cast the illusion of safety but even now at twilight, a faint mist curled with Other Light.

I turned to face the pale-faced spectors behind me, their guises all crooked work belts and fuzzy wool sweaters beneath eyes bright with fear. Asha and Jane looked ready to keel over from fright.

Pity and sympathy wormed into my heart and I had to suppress a small smile.

"Asha, your work belt is crooked," I said softly. "Would you like me to fix it?"

The little mouse nodded and stood. I adjusted the buckles with expert tugs and looked up into her eyes.

"My first case was on a night like this," I whispered. I don't know what to possessed me to say that but Jane looked intrigued. "How did it go?"

" I left my house all bundled up in sweaters. I could hardly move there were so many. Every time I tried to draw my rapier, I nearly fell over."

The girls allowed themselves a giggle.

"Mr. Lockwood says you lost your first team," Asha said. Her Welsh lilt was high and flowing, barely audible.

"I did." I looked down at my hands, pressing them in a tight clasp to keep them from trembling.

"Do you miss them?" Asha pressed. Jane gasped. "Stop urging her, Asha! Don't you see it makes Ms. Carlyle upset."

I smiled thinly. "It's fine, Jane. And yes, Asha, I do miss them but I wouldn't wish them back."

"What?" Jane gasped again (she was very good at it). "Why?"

"Their death taught me a valuable lesson." I stood, brushing non-existent fluff off my skirt. "To trust my talent above all else."

A knock on the door told me Lockwood and Seamus were ready. I waved my charges through the door.

The Problem's reemergence in France had come with a few surprises. The visitors here were twice as powerful and most alarming of all, almost the entire population could see them.

A thirty-year-old had reported a full specter in his living room. A young mother said she heard a woman singing to her baby when she was alone in the house. The infant was found dead in its crib.

Barnes had told us to proceed carefully. He was talking to Lockwood and me, as we were now past our agent prime but i was more concerned for the kids. Lockwood and I had experience, they had sharply tuned talents with no idea how to use them.

Lockwood had been given a list of the most urgent and deadly hauntings. We would have to go systematically through them all, stamping out each in turn.

First was a senator's home haunted by a ragged woman which had already killed two hired maids.

The senator's townhome was a building that had been passed down by each member of office and could hold more than a few secrets. We had been given a folder with all of the information past and present compiled by a scribe at the city archives. A sticky note pressed neatly between the folder told us that it was riddled with holes due to the pillaging of the archive building in both world wars. The scribe had done his best and now it was our turn.

Lockwood and I had agreed that these kids should very slowly integrate into the agent regime. They would start out small. We set them to work placing small defenses in the kitchen, a place that was free from psychic disturbance and arranging iron circles in the foyer, the 1st-floor hallway and 2nd-floor veranda.

Lockwood and I poured through the folder, trying to glean information of relevance in the clippings of society parties and political meetings that had taken place in these very halls. Our interest was piqued when we came across a tiny article, no more than a paragraph from around the turn of the century. It read in translation,

 _At 7:15, Friday, January 15th, the body of Ms. Emilie Nemtanu was removed from Senator Lemoine's home. Cause of death is unknow_ n.

While Lockwood assisted Jane with a particularly stubborn tangle of chains, I flipped the page to try and find out more.

I found a birth record for an Emilie Nemtanu some 20 years previously and a marriage certificate to an Alain Benoit. Further along, I found a divorce record not two years later. Alain had left her after she was involved in an affair.

My mind began to turn, all the gears grinding up the information.

Emilie, who had a dubious reputation, was found dead in a senator's home. There was no doubt in my mind her purpose there that night but what of her death. That would come to light over the next several hours as we began to poke our noses into the shady corners of this house.

We started our investigations on the uppermost floor, taking readings and making notes of the minutest details.

If I was being completely honest, Lockwood and I had never been the most diligent at taking readings- that was George's skill set but we made an effort this time to be good examples.

My feet were back in their trusty boots, the worn coat pulled tight around me, knapsack on my shoulders and rapier had loosely in my grip.

How familiar it felt. I never fully appreciated this feeling. Booted feet gliding across cold floors, breath visible in the air, rapier glowing like a shard of moonlight.

With great delight, I opened my inner ear, listening intently. A soft murmur greeted me, the barest voice, a gentle tone that alludes to the saddest story. But, with these voices grew danger and their dark desires. I would have to be cautious. My talent had been subjected to ill use and this would be my greatest danger.

"Jane," I whispered. "Do you hear anything?"

Jane huddled deeper into her puffed coat and screwed her eyes shut. "Yes!" she hissed excitedly after a moment. "A voice calling for someone."

"Very good," I praised. Jane glowed.

Seamus dropped the kit bags with an exhausted sigh. Six flights of stairs had been his bane. "Ms. Carlyle," he said, looking around. "Where are the lanterns?"

We had been provided more than adequate supplies by the French government and DEPRAC but Lockwood preferred to pack his own supplies.

I checked the kit bags for the accused lanterns -made with silver which burned with lavender oil- and could not find them.

Asha glanced at Anthony. " I think Mr. Lockwood left them on the kitchen table."

I looked at him, he shuffled his feet, not meeting my eyes.

"Please don't send me back down those stairs." he shook his finger desperately at the staircase. "I'm too old to climb them again."

Jane giggled in spite of herself and even Asha smiled at Lockwood's ridiculousness. Seamus, however, glanced woefully at the stairs.

"It's fine. I'll go get them." I said quickly, not wanting to waste any more time. "You three keep an eye on the old man." I skipped down the steps with the sound of the kids teasing Lockwood dying slowly in the background. I relished this small moment to myself as I stepped lightly down the main entrance towards the old servant's staircase that led to the basement kitchen. The familiar tang of an empty house, iron filings and silver chains. The only thing that was missing was the sound of a sarcastic skull. It had been bittersweet, taking my old rucksack out of retirement without the weight of the skull's jar in it. But the whole in my being without the skull was slowly being filled by these three, giggling, bright, talented kids. With fewer murder tips.

I snatched up the neglected lantern then begun my ascent back up the stairs. It was more difficult than going down them and my whole legs were on fire by the time I had reached the second floor. I leaned against the banister on the landing, breathing heavily. I could hear Lockwood instructing Seamus and Jane on taking readings a floor above. I could hear the wind howling, rattling the windows and shaking the eaves.

There is something universally known by all agents, young and old, new and experienced. That there is a moment when everything ceased to make noise. As if the whole house takes a breath as the visitor pulls together and takes form. It's a stillness that chills you to your very soul.

I felt the barest breeze on my face then nothing. My breath ceased to make a sound, my fingers went numb and as the hairs on the back of my neck rose, my ears filled with a buzzing sound mimicking the static on a radio.

I turned slowly as the lights in the hall flashed on and off, the slightest form taking shape at the end of the corridor.

With each flash of darkness, the shape drew closer, becoming more visible.

Long, thins arms. Jutting hips and shoulders beneath a loose, ragged dress. Thick black hair loose around her face, the head at an awkward angle.

The lights dimmed to a half-shadowed gloom and the apparition stilled. The skirt and hair blowing softly. We stood, opposite with a staircase and one hundred feet between us.

I could hear the voice again. Soft sighs and painful gasping.

I didn't move. Neither did she.

Somewhere above me was Lockwood. He would know what to do. I didn't want to scare Jane into hysterics and my heart rate was accelerating rapidly. Both would only fuel the ghost in her power.

Back to the old sing-song stand-by.

"Oh, Lockwood!" I chirped with as much cheer and calm as I could muster.

"Hang on, Luce." Lockwood's voice called back faintly. "I'm getting a really strong death glow in this back bedroom."

"I'm getting something here too!" I cried jubilantly. " I think I found Emilie, Lockwood. And she doesn't look very happy."

Indeed, as I had been speaking the twitch of her skirts was growing sharper. Her fingers twitched and her head lolled sickeningly.

"Okay!" Lockwood shouted. "I'll be there in a moment."

"Ms. Carlyle." a timid voice asked from the stairwell.

Damn.

Asha had come to look for me.

"Asha, please go back upstairs and get Lockwood." I hissed, praying she hadn't seen the apparition yet. Asha's power of sight was much stronger than mine and from what I could see, my stomach wormed with fear. I didn't want Asha panicking.

"Why?" Asha asked, then turned and saw the ghost's bright guise, flowing with mist and Other Light and promptly screamed. Her fear was like tossing gasoline onto a fire. The visitor lunged with an ear-splitting yell but I was faster. I snatched Asha up by her sweater and swung the lantern at the ghost, which burst into pieces against the wall. The lavender oil exploded across the floor and the silver-glass shattered across the landing.

I tucked Asha close to my body to protect her from ectoplasm and bolted up the last flight of stairs. I collided with Lockwood at the top. He grabbed us both and swore.

"What happened?"

"I hope you didn't like that lantern," I said, sheepishly.

We sat in our circles, waiting for Emilie to reemerge and continuing her path of haunting. We all agreed the bedroom had to house the source so we waited for her to lead the way.

I sat close to Asha, her hand clasped between both of my own. She had described a flickering guise, the visitor had seemed to shake with convulsions.

Lockwood frowned. "A seizure? Or a stroke?"

I shrugged.

"So she definitely dies when she and the senator where-" I shook my head fervently. Not in front of the kids.

"Doing business." Lockwood finished. "And was removed from the building discreetly that morning."

We all nodded. I felt Asha's hand tremble and I squeezed it tighter.

So there we sat on the cold floor. Tea was passed around in thermoses and biscuits had been offered. I made sure all of the kids had a sandwich- Seamus consuming three times more than the rest of us. Then we waited.

A voice whispered a barely audible greeting then Emilie floated up the stairs. Our candles flickered and went out. An audible breath was taken in by the occupants of the circle. Asha buried her face into her knees.

Slowly, almost gracefully Emilie floated down the hall and into the bedroom.

Quick as a flash, Lockwood, Seamus, and Jane was out of the circle and after her. There were several minutes of painful silence. My heart pounded, waiting. Then Lockwood returned with a silver-swathed bundle and the air lightened considerably.

Asha breathed a sigh of relief and lifted her head.

Looking at me, she whispered. " I hate my talent. Their faces always seem to be burned into my mind."

"Do you remember them all?" I asked, softly.

"I remember everything about them." was her haunted reply.

 **Hey guys! Again, thank you so much for reading! I wrote this all in one day, so I am sorry if it's a bit of a mess. So, about that upload schedule. I'm thinking every other Sunday. So it could be Spreading Shadows Sundays! HA!...so, I'll leave now. But seriously, does that sound good to you all?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I've never been to France and anything I know about Paris comes from Miraculous Ladybug and Wikipedia. Also, I don't own Lockwood and Co. all credit to Jonathan Stroud.**

Over the next weeks, we took on everything from a lowly shade to a powerful poltergeist. George provided the most helpful insights in difficult cases and was sort of liaison between us and the main office of DEPRAC.

The kids were improving steadily. Seamus was becoming invaluable with his power of touch improving every day. Jane's listening, coupled with my own, had saved Lockwood's ass on multiple occasions, including one rather memorable time that involved a ghostly old woman and her cane.

We had only a few mishaps, no burnt houses or breaking and entering as of yet. The only nagging concern to me was Asha. Her sight was strong, almost too strong, and her pain at seeing the dead in their true form with startling clarity was slowly dragging her down. She wept at night and hardly ate. I tried to convince Lockwood to take her under his wing but he said there was nothing he could do. She would have to learn to deal with the horror on her own. But if there was one person I knew could help, it was a certain office assistant who came into Paris a month after we did.

Jane, Asha, and I picked her up from the train station so she could accompany us to the case for that evening. We hugged enthusiastically -our bond had grown sisterly after a few squabbles- and I breathed in her smell of gardenias and suspiciously healthy baked goods. Holly squished both of the girls into an embrace and gushed over them.

She chattered about the trip over, how Quill was "moping, he wanted to come over with me" and how George was "swamped but every time you call he drops everything." and where she should leave her cases while we sorted out this station, "I'll just leave them with the station master, shall I? We can stop on our way back this evening." Having Holly by my side perked me up and set me at ease. The week here in France felt like an illusion and almost impossible. I felt like an imposter, no longer an agent worth her skills but fake. Someone who had achieved glory and was trying to relive the days filled with my fame.

We were sent to a children's home, to speak to a small boy. The matron had declared his sleeplessness and tales of ghostly flames and the screams of burning residents. The matron retold these stories to our scribe, sounding skeptical even disbelieving. As if four deaths by these spectors where all a hoax and the country's state of emergency was uncalled for. We had dealt with people like this before, citizens who thought by ignorance The Problem would just go away.

(It didn't)

But luckily, we had holly along with us for the ride and her people tolerating skills more attuned than mine, so we may have hope for this case after all.

Asha, Holly, Jane and I arrived on the stoop of St. Lavaline's Home for Children at half-past four. It wasn't a lavish building, nor was it particularly rundown. It existed in the meh-range, a gray area dweller the shade of its point, an akin to its residents.

The Matron had been insistent on only an interview, not wanting to endure a full-fledged investigation, to which her adoption statistics may suffer. So, we stood on the steps, knuckles had been firmly tapped against the wood of the door just a few breaths previously, waiting. I looked up and saw a group of shadowy figures looking down from the highest window. I couldn't see their faces and, after a split-second, they were gone. The sound of distant footsteps and the boisterous yelling of children greeted us.

A woman, pale and ragged, opened the door, smoothing flyaways of hair back into place in her otherwise smooth knot. "Yes?"

"Good afternoon, ma'am," Holly said, turning on her dainty smile. "I'm Holly Monro of the Lockwood and Co. team. We're here about one of your charges."

The woman nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, we've been expecting you. I'm Susan Black, the deputy matron. Please, come inside."

She ushered us through an even grayer foyer and beyond, into a lived-in sitting room that had toys and board games strewn across the floor. She bid us take a seat. I took residence on a sofa next to a well-loved teddy bear. Holly took the second sofa with Jane sitting close beside and Asha stood in the corner, looking around nervously.

All of the seating in this room, I now noticed, was directed to face one straight-backed wooden chair that stood on trial in the center of the room. Susan offered us tea, which we accepted and told us she would return with the tea and boy.

I looked beside me at the bear. Jane spoke up, addressing the stuffed creature. "I had one of those. They were the candy bear cuddles. My sister and I collected them."

"Can't that I did," I said, holding it in front of me. "I was more of a Rotwell toy rapier kinda girl."

"Oh, come on," Holly cried "Surely, you've collected those Fittes ghost cards?"

I shook my head. "Didn't have a store that carried them near me."

Susan reappeared and behind her, skittered a small, spidery boy with dark hair and dark eyes. He walked slowly, deliberately and looked around at us through heavily-lidded eyes. Susan guided him toward the interrogation chair and plunked him firmly into it. The boy frowned, looking quite uncomfortable and a little frightened at the sight of us in our dark, sensible clothes.

"Are you the police?" He asked, his voice was soft, whispery with a slight accent.

Susan, who was passing the tea around, made a sound between a hiss and a shush. The end result was her sounding like a tire slowly letting out air. Holly let out a tinkling little laugh. "No, we aren't the police. Though I can see why you asked. We do look a bit like detectives, don't you?"

The boy didn't answer only keeping his heavily-lidded eyes trained on me.

"These people are here to help you, Francis," Susan said, sharply but not unkindly. SHe looked embarrassed at her charge's lack of decorum.

"I don't need help," Francis grumbled. "They aren't hurting anything."

"Who?" I asked, quickly.

"He says he sees these people in the attic-" Susan began but Holly cut her off. "I'm sorry Ms. Black but let's let Francis do the talking."

"People in the attic?" I repeated. Holly took out a notebook and waited, pen poised.

"They don't hurt me," Francis defended. "They're very gentle."

"Yes, yes," I said, impatiently. "But what are they? Can you describe them to me?"

"They wear masks, I can't see their faces and they are all wispy."

That was the most detailed description I had ever heard. I looked at Holly in annoyance, begging her to get to the bottom of this. Clearly, he was put out at being interrogated. I silently wished Anthony wasn't over in Dunkirk, dealing with a cluster of ghosts. He could get this little git to talk. Holly, seeing my frustration, cleared her throat. "Right. Masked wispies, it is then." she made a note. "Where do you see them?"

"In the attic." was the innovative reply.

"Where in the attic? Do they only come to you there? Has anyone else seen them?"

Francis tilted his head, considering which question he should answer first. "They appear by the window. You would have seen it from the street. They don't appear to anyone else. They like me best."

his eyes flashed with pride, sending a shiver down my spine. "What about the flames and screaming?"

"You know about that?" Francis asked, turning to Susan, his eyes blazed with a fire of their own. "You said you wouldn't tell anyone!"

Susan's fear of Francis was pasted quite evidently on her face. "I...I didn't think it would be safe not to."

"They don't hurt me!" Francis bellowed.

"But they have hurt other people, Francis," I said, in a low voice. "You may think that they are your allies, even your friends, but you cannot trust them."

Francis turned his gaze on me. I could practically hear the fire crackling in his eyes. "You don't know them,"

"Yes, you're right, I don't know them," I said. "But I know visitors. They are manipulative and dangerous. You will not seek them out from today on, without one of us," -I waved a hand at Holly, Asha and Jane-" present. Is that clear?"

There was a battle of wills between the boy and me for several intense seconds but Francis had never waged war against George for the last donut, leaving him woefully unprepared for my sheer power. So, after a few brutal minutes, he relented.

"Fine," he said leaning against his chair. I wanted to ask some questions about him and his residence here at St. Lavaline's but it seemed rude to do it with him in the room. I forced a tight-lipped smile and turned to Ms. Black, who understood my meaning.

"Thank you, Francis," Susan said, quickly. "Please wait for us in the hall."

He slouched himself off the chair and meandered to the door without much gusto. When the door clicked shut, we turned to Susan, who was now the interrogee.

"What do you want to know," she said. "I can't dig too deep since we are his legal guardians but whatever you need for this interview is fair game."

"how long has he been here? What's his relationship with the other children?" Holly queried, leaning forward on the sofa.

"He's been here since infancy. He was brought in by social services, I'm afraid we can't go into too much detail but his whole family is dead. No extended relatives looking for him. He's completely alone. Part of me would feel sorry for him if he wasn't just so abnormal."

"What do you mean?" Holly said, pausing in her notetaking.

"He doesn't play with children," Susan explained. "He doesn't even want to read, he just stands up in the attic singing to himself. We just let him do it because it made him happy but it wasn't till those deaths and he mentioned the screams that we thought to separate him from the other children and away from the attic."

"Who was killed?" I asked quickly.

"A cleaner found all puffed up and blue in the attic stairwell. There was a volunteer from the community center who was burned in the upstairs bathroom." Susan shivered. "We don't know how that happened. Then two possible adopters had heart attacks when they fell behind on a tour here."

"What times did they occur?" Asha asked, speaking up for the first time during the interview.

"All late evening but well before nightfall," Susan assured us. I frowned. I had been hesitant entering this case but now I was sure that this would be a challenging cluster of ghosts and, to top it off, we had a child possibly ensnared.

"I'd like to see those rooms if you don't mind," I said, standing up.

"Let's take Francis with us," Holly suggested. "See if his presence makes a difference."

I nodded in agreement. "Jane and Asha, why don't you talk to some of the other children? See if they know anything about it."

The girls nodded and shuffled off to a sunroom filled with children. Francis sat sulking out in the hall, looking as if someone had run over his cat.

"Come on," I said, miming for him to move. "We're going to the attic."

"But you said I wasn't to go up there," He whined.

"Not without a supervising agent. I'm an agent." I gave him a wave. "Hello!"

Francis rolled his eyes. This kid was starting to getting onto my nerves. Susan led us up four flights of stairs and paused at the landing, turning to a long narrow hallway that was tighter than Quill's skinny jeans. We shuffled along, stopping only when we reached the end, where a door was embedded into the wall. A large deadbolt was on the outside and a series of complicated locks marched down the face the door.

"This leads to the attic," Susan said. "That bathroom," She pointed to a door diagonally across from where we stood. "Is where the community worker was found."

"I'd like to take a closer look at that loo," Holly said. "Lucy, why don't you and Francis go into the attic?"

"Marvelous idea, Hol," I said, grinning wolfishly at Francis. "Shall we?" Susan unlocked the door, leaving the great yawning entrance pitch-black. I took my torch from my work belt and marched Francis up the stairs. The attic was dimly lit by the one peaked window. There were boxes, crates, and spare furniture, all normal attic things. Cobwebs hung in thick curtains, spiders dancing from their silver threads. I shivered. The chill here was enough to spread a thin layer over your bones.

"Where do they appear?" I asked Francis, who hung back by the stairs, shifting from foot to foot. He pointed at the far wall with the familiar window. I ventured over to the spot, looking around. I cast my torch's light up to the rafters. Beams were riddled with scorch marks and the air smelled faintly of smoke.

"Was there a fire here?" I questioned.

"I don't know," Francis whispered.

"Do your visitors know?" I asked, directing the beam of light at the boy.

"Yes."

"Do they speak to you?" I asked.

Francis rolled his head from side to side. The movement was eerie enough to move my feet back a step, my head hitting the window frame. He heaved his head off his shoulders and looked me in the eyes. "They don't like you, Lucy Carlyle."

I had never told him my name.

 **Creepy kids are the worst right? Thank you so much for reading yet another chapter of Spreading Shadows. Today is the first Spreading Shadows Sunday-the alliteration is warming my cold dead heart!**

 **Anyway, an interesting little tidbit for ya: Lavaline is the name of one of my characters in my Nano 2018 WIP, which you may hear more about in the new year. To read an excerpt, follow my nano profile, FloraSkye. Also, weekly headcanons are on my Tumblr, Adamantium Dragonfly. Links to both in my profile!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/n I'm sorry this is so late. My muse has been painfully silent and I deleted my Tumblr on accident (long story) so I couldn't make a hiatus announcement. But I'm back now and with an overarching story I said wouldn't happen. Whoops!**

Holly and I sat down the next morning to catch up over tea and donuts. It was so familiar that we could have been at Portland Row. All that was missing was George's snores and it would have been identical. I cradled a tea cup in my hand letting the warmth seep into my palms, slowly giving life to my otherwise dead body. I felt like a husk this morning. A shell of who I was once. Someone who didn't belong. The weak sunlight trickled through the clouds sending frail beams through the windows. The hotel's restaurant had only a few tables sparsely occupied. Other than that, it was empty. I looked at Holly, her amber eyes were studying me as they would a carpet with a particularly stubborn stain. "How have you been Lucy?" She asked. The inflection on which she put on the words was not an inquiry on my welfare as it might have been perceived. She was really watching my face to try and see how I honestly have been. I swallowed. Holly was more terrifying than a raw-bones and today was no exception. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair under her scrutinizing gaze. "You know," Holly said, sipping her tea. "It's a simple question. How have you been?"

" Well, I don't know if I should be honest or not." I said quickly trying to avoid her gaze and not show any weakness. "Do you really want to know how I've been?"

" Yes that's why I'm asking Lucy!"

"Okay fine, I'll tell you!" I sucked in one quick encouraging breath and spat out the words that had been my existence here in France. " I'm failing."

"How?"

"I'm not good enough to be here. I've been feeling like a fake. Asha, Jane and Seamus, they look up to me but I don't deserve it. They think I'm some agent of gold, an idol to blindly adore and trust. I'm scared I'll lose them too. Lead them to their deaths. What if I can't keep them safe?

" I had a hard enough time keeping Lockwood alive. I'm collapsing under the weight. I feel like such a fake. In the time since the problem faded, I've had time to wonder if I really achieved anything. If I was worth all the same I got in those days"

The tea steam drafted into the air, the wafting tendrils of vapor curling artfully. Holly's eyes softened as her smile burst across her face. "Lucy, you're being too hard on yourself. Also, your sounding like Lockwood. Not everything's about you." I rolled my eyes. "We are only merited on what we accomplished as a team. The screaming staircase wasn't just you. You are not the only thing keeping this agency together."

"But i-"

" No, Lucy," Holly cut in. "You're right, you didn't do all the work. Lockwood, George, me, the skull, hell, even Kipps all worked just as hard as you." I sank in my chair, closing my eyes. It wasn't like Holly to beat something into someone. "My old team at Rotwell, for years I blamed myself for their death. I was tortured by it.'

"What changed?"

"I realized, I couldn't have controlled it." Holly said."so I focused on what I could control."

"Is that why you clean so much?"

Holly laughed. " Yes that's why I'm such a controller."

"But what about Jane? Asha? Seamus?"

" You and Lockwood have taught them well. You can't be a fake agent to have done that. They can handle themselves." Holly reassured. "You have to let them learn to do things on their own."

"I know," I said sheepishly. "I just want to keep them from having to go through what I did."

Holly laughed softly. "Might as well try and protect them from the sunlight. They're agents, they won't be untouched forever."

I barely traced a smile. "Just let me hover for this case. It's concerning, don't you think?"

Holly pursed her lips, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "It's intriguing, if that's what your asking. A boy who communicates with ghosts and it doesn't sound like normal Listening either."

I frowned."it makes me uneasy."

" Me too," Holly whispered, looking around the quiet restaurant that was nearly empty at this afternoon hour. " How have the other cases been?"

" They aren't comparable to this, Hol" I said, setting my teacup back in it's saucer. "It took maybe two nights to tackle them but they felt different. This one feels darker."

" The building felt heavy, didn't it?" I nodded. There were overlapping echoes, things I couldn't quite discern from each other. The whole environment, room after room, coupled with Francis's tale led me to believe that St. Lavaline's was saturated with psychic reflections. The ghosts inside felt stronger than that of anything I had seen in France as of yet. "Francis said while we were in the attic that the visitors didn't like me." My voice sounded choked with an effort to hide the creeping fear I felt spidering up my back. "They don't like you Lucy Carlyle. That's what he said."

"You know what this reminds me of?" Holly asked abruptly.

"What?"

"Marissa Find and her demonic type 3. What was his name again"

"Ezekiel." I shivered, remembering that night in the Fittes building. Ezekiel's eyes had haunted the corner of my mind ever since.

"Yes, him." Holly said. "What if this was a cluster of type 3 ghosts?"

My skin crawled at the thought of this taboo idea. Why would we tempt fate to think that it was an even probable idea? But the more I thought about it the more it seemed plausible. I looked at Holly, both of us praying it wasn't true but we had to be safe. We had to cover our asses in case of the worst. I spoke at last, my voice strained as I broke the silence that stretched between us. "Call Lockwood. Tell him to get everyone out of St. Lavaline's as soon as possible." Holly nodded. "I'll call our liaison and have them send our scribe back to the archives." I shoved some money on the table and stood up, slipping on my coat. "I'll go back to the hotel. I've got to make a long distance call."

" To whom?"

"George. He'll need time to arrange everything and get here a soon as he can." I started walking away but Holly stopped me by grabbing my coat sleeve, pulling me back to the table. "Looks like the gangs all back together."

I smiled wryly. "We've got to stop getting together like this."

 **YAY the Portland Row crew is getting back together! So I deleted my Tumblr smack in the middle of my weekly Halloween head canons. I'll be posting them here (possibly) and I'll be coming back with Christmas themed headcanons that will be both on** **and on my new Tumblr. That I hopefully won't delete again :-|.**

 **Anyway, I started a forum called 35 Portland Row a while ago and I'd really like to get that going so all us skullies can talk together!**

 **I can't promise that I'll be very active here until Christmas break and for that I am very sorry but college is sucking all life and joy from me. And if you thought you could do college, Nanowrimo and write a fanfic bi weekly, you would be wrong**


	6. Chapter 6

A/N- are you guys ready for creepy kids, sassy ghosts and locklyle cuddles? I am. Let's go!

I sat atop the veranda attached to our hotel room. Around me, snow fell on the concrete, piling in the corners, little drifts of white fluff. I curled up under my blanket, my thermos tucked next to me. There were bustle and things to arrange, plan and pack for our final night on the St. Lavaline's case but I knew Holly and Kipps could handle it. I needed a moment alone.

It was a strange sense of Deja Vu to have us all back together. As we should be, Kipps, Holly, Lockwood, George and I, and yet it felt wrong. I had grown so accustomed to the fact we would never again prowl the twilight gloom together that it hurt more to have this bonus, this one extra time that would inevitably end. The old gang back together again except we had three little agents who followed us around. We had grown as an agency and now we had to acclimate.

This case- though difficult, though challenging- seemed to be going nowhere. For two nights we searched for The Source, we waited for the visitors, practically attempted to summon them but they were stubborn. Lockwood refused to admit defeat but as the days wore on our hands still turned up empty after every trip. The vocal ghosts were now silent. They were waiting.

Finally, Paris grew impatient. They wanted this case solved so we could press on to more urgent and namely, active cases. Lockwood and George -who had arrived in France amid the coldest winter the country had faced- had pleading appointment after appointment with the higher-ups but there was only one thing that we could both agree on. Burning St. Lavaline's to the ground, destroying every trace of the pain that had caused the haunting in the first place.

The door to the veranda opened and Lockwood, his coat collar flipped up to obscure his face, stepped out.

"Hey, Luce," he said, giving me a little wave. I bobbed my head in acknowledgment. Without a word, he slipped under the blanket with me. I curled against him, laying my head on the soft wool of his jacket.

This is how it had been before France. Seeking solace in each other's embrace but the walls we had broken down after the destruction of the Fittes house had been hastily reconstructed, placing us back at square one. The awkward square one. But here was the glimpse of the life we had started building together. Every ounce of my being prayed I would get a chance to finish it, that we would build it again together.

I must have sighed because Anthony pulled me closer and spoke against my hair. "What's wrong?"

Somehow it felt almost taboo to speak of our still crystalline relationship so I thought wildly for another trouble to speak of. Luckily I didn't have far to look.

"This whole case. It's frustrating."

Lockwood gave a terse now, still frustrated himself. He had fought hard for more time but with agents being difficult to coax out of retirement, we remained the only team still active in France. We were needed elsewhere.

"It's almost like the visitors are toying with us." He murmured. "I've managed to get us one final sweep through the building before it's destroyed. Hopefully, they'll be more cooperative this time around. "

I gathered the loose fabric of his shirt in between my fingers, toying with the buttons thoughtfully. "But if they are type threes."

Lockwood sighed. "Disappointment comes easily to those who expect too much."

"Who told you that?"

"No one. I came up with it myself. We have no evidence of type threes. It could be a fetch or phantom. It doesn't have to be a type three."

"But you didn't hear how Francis talked about the case. He kept saying 'they'. Plural."

"I am aware of that grammatical rule, Luce."

"And he said voices had conversations with him. They spoke to him, Anthony."

Lockwood unscrewed my thermos, taking a sip of tea, thinking as he closed it again. "No matter the type of ghost, it'll be over in just a few hours. I just hate to leave it unsolved."

Sensing his end to the conversation, I changed the subject. "How was your boy's trip?"

"Decently difficult. Seamus has a good head on his shoulders. His touch alerted him of a Raw-Bones quick enough to save my neck."

"Looks like I'm out of a job." I sniffed. Anthony squeezed me tight against him. "I would never replace you, Lucy."

The door to the hotel room opened again and George poked his head out. "Oh, there you two are. Warm enough?"

"Quite," Anthony said. "What do you need?"

" We are ready to go."

Lockwood lifted himself off the chair, the absence of his body heat chilling me faster than ghost lock. "Right, let's go burn down a house."

I stood, shaking snowflakes out of my hair. "On purpose this time."

* * *

The house, now cleared of children's toys and all clutter was empty. It was a happing empty that left you feeling minuscule. My footsteps, heavy in their boots, clumped against the hardwood. Lockwood had let me go in with just Jane to try and glean any more echoes but after the upstairs had been thoroughly searched, we still walked away with nothing. My anger, free of the restraints I usually harnessed it in, now set my blood boiling. Where had we gone wrong? Had I missed something? Had Francis lied to us?

The latter was less likely, considering how he committed he was to these elusive visitors. And I couldn't ignore my own instinct. I had felt a presence.

Jane scuffed a toe against the floor. "Why can't I hear anything?"

"What?"

"I hear nothing. No echoes."

"Sometimes powerful ghosts hide their echoes-" I started to say but she cut me off. "Yes I know but usually I can still feel a presence, hear a sort of buzzing. " Jane shoved her hands into her pockets in frustration. "I hear absolute silence."

My throat felt tight, an invisible hand constricting it, as I too listened, really listened. My ears were met with a ringing silence.

It was too quiet.

"Jane, go get Anthony," I said softly, not caring that I used his first name. I needed him in here with me. I needed him.

The hand around my throat cut off all air as Jane turned tail and bolted out the door. Now I was alone. Just me, the ghosts and the house.

"I know you're here," I said, attempting to keep the fear from shaking my voice. "I've dealt with your kind before."

The silence was broken by a voice sounding offended. "Your kind, what does that mean?"

"I think she means the powerful kind,"

"How flattering."

"Why have you tried to hide?" I asked as I moved toward the back of the house where the now buzzing psychic disturbance seemed to emanate.

"We're rather shy, you know. Don't want peeping agents staring."

"How do you know about agents?"

"Oh through the grapevine." the first said, nonchalantly. "An old buddy of yours was an acquaintance of mine in the Other Side. Told us all about you, terribly chatty."

"When did you come back to the living world?" I asked.

"We've never left, really. The Other side was dull, so, I thought we'd stay here, among all the live ones."

"But when did you die?"

"January 3rd, 1952." we were great followers of Mariss and wanted to create our own haunting."

I paused in the large kitchen, void of all homely charms. "So you.."

"Burned alive? Oh yes."

"On purpose," the second voice, younger, more feminine piped in.

"Why?"

"I told you. We wanted to create our own haunting. Put her theories to the test. And she was right. **We** _were right._ "

1952\. That was three years after the orphanage was built and the year, Marissa Fittes released her first piece of theory work on the Other Side. these were just kids who had been dauntless enough to try and prove it. Stupid enough to attempt it. I turned to look for what I would think was the oldest part of the house. Vaguely, I remembered the basement being the only remaining piece of the old building that was preserved from the fire. Perhaps this was a clue.

"Were you children at the orphanage?"

"Yes," a twang of sadness pulsed through the air. I could feel their presence getting stronger. I was headed in the right direction.

"How could you kill everyone in the building? All that blood on your hands," I gave a sigh of empathy for all those poor lost souls.

"But we didn't," the female voice piped up. "Everyone else made it out but we were up in the-"

A hiss of warning sliced the air. "Brigette!" the older voice warned.

Brigette. I filed that away for future reference. "So you didn't kill everyone at least you aren't heartless, malevolent spirit. Just malevolent spirits. "

There was a large silence.

"Oh don't clam up on me now," I said. "In minutes, the people waiting outside will have this place lit in flames again. You and your source will be history. No one will ever hear your story again."

The silence stretched on as I located the door to the basement and began my descent.

"I know you didn't like Francis just because he was a lonely little orphan like you two. You wanted to control him, to use him." One by one, they took me down, down. "You can show me where your source is and I can save it. I can use you as guidance. Your knowledge of the other side won't be lost."

The elder voice scoffed but Brigette spoke up. "Why are you being so kind to spectors?"

"Because without insights from the Other Side, the Problem here in France may never go away. I don't want to be here forever." I straightened as my feet hit the bottom of the stairs. " I had a friend who was a visitor. One of the most annoying obnoxious and amazing friends I've had and he's gone now.

I smiled, pleased with their answer and the sky fell on me.

Later I would be told that at that exact moment, Anthony was racing into the house. I would also be told that Asha who had been silent, started writhing and shrieking, "I can see them burning!" as the match was struck and the petrol lit.

A great wave of heat blew me back against the wall and the ghosts gave a shriek of pain. Upstairs, I could hear Lockwood coughing and yelling for me. The smoke was thick and choking. I lay in the rubble, trying to blink away unconsciousness. But at last the war against the encroaching darkness could no longer be fought. I drifted off to sleep lulled by the crackle of flames and the screams of angry spirits.

* * *

I woke in a hospital bed. No flames, no screaming. It was nice.

I had been asleep for 8 hours, Lockwood had already exploded at the workers who had burned down the building, as had holly. Kipps had taken Asha into the hospital as well to be sedated. She lay in a bed next to mine, asleep.

I stared up at the ceiling after the nurse had caught me up, my body feeling rather numb and my mind decently clouded.

"You have a visitor," she said in halting English. I nodded, to let them in and she opened the door.

Francis stood in the doorway, his face filled with a fury unmatched by spirit or living. I was too tired to care how he had gotten there. "You killed them."

"Oh grow up, Francis," I said. "They just wanted to use you."

"YOU KILLED THEM!" he hissed, lunging at me but the nurse caught him around the middle, holding him back. "You'll pay for this, Carlyle. You'll pay for this. You **killed** them."

"They were already dead, Francis."

"They were all I had." his voice cracked as his sobs grew louder. "And now they're gone. Brigette and…" he trailed off.

I looked him dead in the eyes, avoiding my knapsack that buried under several layers of iron, salt, and silver, inside a silver-glass box sat a photograph of two children standing outside St. Lavaline's. "You may leave now."

The nurse carried him away and as the door closed, a psychic voice whispered, "Poor soul."

"Shut up," I told the knapsack and reclined my bed. "I'm trying to sleep."

A/N I hope you enjoyed! I've got my Tumblr holiday headcanons going with two headcanons cuz I missed the first week so check that out. What are you guys doing for the holidays? I went and played a Christmas themed paintball game with my little brother and it was the best! Team Grinch all the way! but I am exhausted and if there are any grammar issues in this chapter, I am sorry.


	7. Chapter 7

*stay to the end for a special A/N*

After the first hour, the humming was obnoxious. After the fifth I was begging for death.

"Shut up!" I hissed. The ghosts ignored me which I was used to. Three days in the hospital was irritating enough but these spirits, Brigette and her friend, found new ways to be an annoyance to me.

I shifted in bed. I had been burned on my arms and a nasty gash on my leg had needed stitches, all combined to discomfort and boredom. Lockwood and Holly had been to visit me while Seamus and Jane were busy being underlings to Kipps and George.

Asha murmured in her sleep. The little girl would only ever see ghosts, never have to listen to their obnoxious humming.

Brigette paused her tune and I turned to the silver box. The source, a photograph of two children outside St. Lavaline's, was propped up inside. The silver and green ectoplasm swirled lazily in the daylight that streamed through the window. When they woke at night they would be full green lava lamp strength but now, they were sleepy and sluggish.

"At least pick a new song." I suggested. In the photograph, the little girl with long ringlet curls rolled her eyes. "But it's my favorite song."

Somehow they manifested as a living photograph, when they spoke their mouths mirrored the actions. their eyes glowed a bright red. The boy, his face a blur like he had moved right when the photo was taken stayed the same. An unclear vapor of flesh that had no defining features.

It was an unusual guise.

I closed my eyes, counting my breaths to ten then spoke. "All right, time to talk."

"Oh what fun!" The second said. "What do you want to talk about? The boy who came to see you with the nice hair?"

Brigette squealed excitedly. " I want to know all about him!"

I shook my head. "We aren't talking about Lockwood. We're talking about Francis."

"But don't you think he's a little young for you?" The second voice asked, his blurryface lolling to one side.

"I'm not seeking relationship advice from two dead children. I want to know your relationship with Francis. I want to know why you favor him."

"Oh, straight to the pertinent questions, I like a girl who's straight to the point."

Brigette elbowed her companion, hissing at him to be quiet than looked at me dead in the eyes. Her pupils were vast the whites of her eyes tinged with green ectoplasm. "He understands that the future is in the past. Our continued life is in death."

This was all very confusing. I cursed under my breath wishing George was here. He would understand their hyperbole and symbolism. But I, was a simpler soul, so any flowery speech was lost on me. "So, you see yourself in him."

"We admired his drive but he is not like us. We were followers searching for answers. " Brigette whispered. " But Francis..."

"Francis is a destroyer." The second said. "He wants to be in control."

"Do you think he would ever purposefully kill himself for a cause?" I asked. "Like..."

"Like us?" Brigette looked down at her out of frame feet.

The boy shook his obscured head. "No. But in the right hands I fear he would be quite dangerous. He has the traits of a spirit in a living body. Anger, manipulation, and enough insanity to do anything he wants."

Brigette shivered. "In truth, I'm afraid it him. He was such a sweet boy but the more we spoke to him, the more greedy he became."

"You may think us paranoid, Lucy." The boy said, taking in my skeptical face. "But we are more afraid of him dead than alive."

The glow of the ectoplasm faded, leaving only the florescent lights of the hospital.

In the bed next to me, Asha stirred. I reached for a glass of water with bandaged hands as she slowly pulled herself from the heavy sleep she had been in.

She sat up with the sluggish movements of a lurker and her gaunt face looking like death itself.

"Good day, Ms. Pence." I took a sip of my water, thankful for the cool liquid that soothed my body's angry hear. My neck had been badly burned and it stung like hell. "Welcome back to the world of the living."

"What day is it?" She groaned, pushing hair out of her face. She was pale, paler than usual and her eyes were rimmed with a furious red.

"February 16th. A Saturday." I informed. "You've been asleep a while."

Asha ran her fingers through her hair, yawning. "What happened?"

I caught her up with the information Lockwood and Holly had given me. She paled further upon hearing of her outcry and sedation at the now+smoldering ruins of St. Lavaline's. "-and I was badly burned by falling debris so now you have a roommate!" I finished, smiling at her with what I hoped was sunbeams of cheer. Keeping spirits up had always been one of my limitations.

"Do you remember what I said?"

" You apparently said you could see them burning." I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye.

" Did you watch them die?"

" No. They were ash within seconds."

"When did your Talent start to manifest?" I asked. Asha furrowed her brows, clearing her muddied mind to find the answer.

"When I was six. My mom was a part of some club that was leading in supernatural communication. She would bring me along and I started to see them. The ghosts." Her brown eyes filled with a heavy emotion, many layers slowly crushing her small, thin frame. "Mom died not long after. Something went wrong during a session but she- no, her ghost came back to our house. I...I see her every time I close my eyes. Her wraith. I think I was her Source. Could I have been?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Probably not. Was her visitor-"

Asha shook her head. "They never incinerated her. I think she's trapped somewhere or was. Her club got me with Rotwell for training when I was eight and I've been an agent ever since."

I could feel the overwhelming waves of sadness that rolled off her. Tainted by the visitors at a young age. Brigette broke her silence to start softly start singing her tune once again.

 _"Guise so bright, night black,_

 _she leads us home, she leads us back._ "

My throat felt dry when I asked one final question. "What was the name of the club?

 _"Hearts so cold, mist so gray._

 _We sleep the day away. "_

Asha frowned. " I don't remember. They never spoke of the name in front of me." We fell silent and I layed back, listening to Brigette's song.

 _" They search for us, they hunt us down._

 _We hide our ties, we can't be found."_

 _"We let them look, we let them slave._

 _But still they'll never find our grave."_

A/N-

 _Thank you guys so much for reading. This will be my last update of this year but I will see you all in 2019! I appreciate and adore all of you who have supported everything I've posted during 2018. I'm so excited for the new year holds and I want to wish you a happy holidays, whatever you celebrate!_


	8. Chapter 8

The archives in France smelled identical to that of London. It was a strange observation to make but my nose was sensitive to the dusty, papery aroma. This had been my first escape from hospital and George had offered to take me after I threatened death upon him. My legs were sore a dull ache by now but I was just happy to be free of the white walls of the ward. George tapped my shoulder, "come one, I've got to check the newspaper records." I nodded following him past several shelves and up a flight of stairs. Despite how much better I felt, I was still breathless at the top. George shook his head at my struggle, "you'll be useless to us."  
I glowered at him, pushing hair out of my eyes. "I'm fine. I just need time."

"We've got cases every night, Lucy, you'll never get time."

"I'll manage."

"Lucy, Lockwood and I want you to be at the top of your game. We need you. You've got to slow down."

"What? Like you?" I snapped. "You missed two months, George?"

George blinked, his magnified eyes shining with confusion. "Lucy, you know that's not fair."

I shook my head. "You're right. I'm sorry George, I don't know why I said that."

"It's fine." He said, gesturing down a hallway. "Newspapers are down this way."

I followed him silently, my cheeks hot with embarrassment. Sure George and I had butted heads often, if not daily once upon a time but it had been with no real harm. George opened the door to the newspaper room and waited till I entered before stepping in. A rare show of chivalry. I frowned as he combed through the papers to find his chosen accounts then passed them to me. Fingers still wrapped in Band-Aids, I accepted them. He nodded toward a table under a single hanging light.  
I deposited my burden upon it with relief. George had not told me why he was here. A scribe did all our case research here in France and after a battle of knowledge, George accepted her as a worthy substitute. We had no official purpose here. I knitted my brows. Perhaps unofficial business was more intriguing anyway.  
I lowered myself onto the chair and sorted through the papers. All were gazettes dating from 1950 to 1955. That sly boy... He was searching for more details on the fire after we had been told to move on.

I grinned. Sometimes I really loved George, even if he could be a pompous windbag sometimes.

In my backpack there was a small giggle, I kicked it further under the table as George joined me.  
Silently he spread out the issues placing them all in chronological order. The last time I could remember joining George on a trip to the archives was for research in Annabel Ward. I chuckled. That had been so long ago. We had been panicking for money among scheme's from socialites and Kipps. But now we had Kipps on our side after Marissa and her league of followers had demoted him. Leauge of followers...

I looked around me at the tall filing cabinets that held the history of Paris. Neatly stored away in here, there must have some record of a club or society that was in agreement with Marissa Fittes.

"Lucy look at this." George gestured at an issue of the Notredame Examiner, a small college paper that reported on the fire at St. Lavaline's. Of all the clippings I had seen covering the fire, this was the first that went beneath the barebones. They dug deeper into the graves of Brigette and her friend.

 _On January 3rd, a Saturday, one of Paris's most prominent children's homes caught fire. The source is still unknown but the flames claimed the lives of two charges, Brigette Hayle, 12, and her brother, Simon, 14_.

I scanned the rest of the page, a single sentence standing out to me.

 _The siblings were avid followers of the Charon Club, a group of speculists who align themselves with the British psychic and supernatural researcher, Marissa Fittes_.

I looked up at George, something of my face must have alerted him that I knew more than I was letting on. His eyebrows raised in a questioning quirk. I could feel his question in the air so, breaking the gaze, I turned my attention to the news papers around me with sudden zeal.

"Lucy,"

"Charon Club huh?" I puffed out my cheeks as I drew another issue in front of me. "What do you suppose happened to them?"

"Lucy, I know you're hiding something." I looked up at him and now I saw George not as his fourteen years old self when I first met him but as eighteen year old George. Adult George, a head taller than me, still round but his face had lost some of it's flab. "You're a terrible liar."  
The backpack giggled again. I kicked it hard.  
" But I don't want to know because you are hiding it for good reason." George shrugged. "And ignorance is bliss."  
"So, researching the Charon Club?" I said, forcing false brightness into my voice.

"Yes, I was thinking of getting a list together of all of Marissa Fittes's sympathizers."

My thoughts trailed away from the conversation as guilt washed over me. Was I putting my team, no, my family in danger?  
I had hidden things before, most ending in trouble. Ignorance to danger was not bliss, I clenched my hands into fists.  
I felt a heavy weight fall on me. Like an eclipse to the sun, slowly a penumbra slid across my eyes as I thought of my team. Anthony, Quill, George, they all trusted me. Jane and Seamus looked up to me. And Asha, she had already lost so much. How could I let them down like this?

My mind snagged against a thought like fabric on a splinter. Slowly, I traced the loose threads to the source. Asha had already lost her mother. She had so many questions, as did I.

I looked up at George, a lightbulb illuminating my mind.

"George," I said, interrupting him mid train of thought. "Do you think you could do me a favor?"

"What is it?" He asked, warily.

"I want you to do some research in Asha's past."

"Why?"

"Just following a trail. Might be nothing."

George digested my words and nodded. "I'll look into it, Luce."

"Thanks a bunch." I flashed him a trademark Lucy Carlyle grin and stood. "I'll get started on that list, shall I?"

A/N-  
A day late, I know. Starting the new year off on a great note. I'm mid revisions on my original novel which has been a brain child of mine for years. Nano2018 project is on hold, classes have started again. It's all going a mile a minute.  
Thanks for reading, please like, follow and review and please check me out on Tumblr if that's your thing.  
XOXO,  
Flora


	9. Chapter 9

" _Lockwood and Co, an agency recognized for such cases as the Screaming Staircase of Combe-Carey Hall, the Battle of the Cemetery and the Fittes House debacle have spent the past six weeks battling the spreading spirits in Paris and the surrounding area. Most notably, their recent escape from a burning orphanage, St. Lavaline's Home for Children. The establishment was burned down by order of the French government, the match being struck while Agent Lucy Carlyle was still inside. A thick-headed decision on her part or brilliant publicity scheme by company head Anthony Lockwood? Our sources would say the former, as a budding relationship had formed between Mr. Lockwood and his resident Listener. Facing life and death situations every day can certainly bring a couple together but one can't help but wonder if Ms. Carlyle actually as talented as her reputation leads us to believe or is Mr. Lockwood's emotions making all the hiring choices for him?"_

I growled angrily, crumpling up the magazine page and correlating photo, a shot of Lockwood carrying me out of the flaming skeleton of St. Lavaline's like some sort of damsel.

"What did that paper ever do to you?" Lockwood asked.

"Oh nothing," I grumbled. Just some journalist and her impressions of me." I tossed the paper out of the iron circle, wishing to burn it to ashes with only the glare from my eyes.

"Did she have something nasty to say?"

"Well, long story short, she seems to think you hired me only because you were attracted to me."

Lockwood leaned back on his elbows, stretching out as much as he could inside of our protective circle. "Well, there goes my big secret."

I glared at him.

"I'm kidding Luce!" he said, sounding hurt. I tossed my gloves at his face.

"Well, at least I know that you didn't try to woo me to use my talents for some nefarious purpose."

Anthony chuckled. "They're only writing this because they don't have hauntings to cover by the thousands anymore. They're bored."

I pulled my afghan tighter around my lap as a chill started to creep in, shortly followed by skeletal fingers of fog. I felt sluggish as I tucked the magazine back into my knapsack and checked the temp. 15 ℃.

"Malaise is setting in," I said, opening up a thermos of tea and taking a sip.

Anthony nodded. "Temps dropping fast."

I looked around at the courtyard. Silence reign still but a buzzing in my ear told me it would break soon enough. Anthony and I had been tasked with making safe a park in southern Paris. The park had been rebuilt after World War Two, the area decimated in a bombing. A ragged form had been reported shuffling across the park and concentrating on a bridge that arched over a man-made river. The weather had been particularly dry, leaving the concrete underneath exposed, a rut in the otherwise picturesque gardens. A rut where we had made camp, offering a perfect view of the bridge. Chains set, rapiers laying by our side, we had settled in for the long haul. Anthony leaned against the concrete bank. "I missed this."

I hummed in agreement. Sitting beside him, a chill in the air, the possibility of a dangerous visitor: there was nothing like it.

"Anthony," I said softly, as the air around us shifted. The visitor would be visible soon, around us the night prepared for its arrival. "When we fix this, when we go home, what are you going to do?"

He tensed beside me, every fiber of his being frozen at my question. He seemed unsure of the answer. For so long he lived case to case, waiting for his death. He wasn't going to kill himself, he was going to get himself killed.

"DEPRAC is retracting to Scotland Yard again," he said, clenching his hands together. "Barnes was hinting at hiring me but it doesn't feel right."

"What does feel right?" I asked, watching as a storm spread across his face. A hurricane of emotions that raged in his eyes. Fingers tugged at the long forelock that drooped over his forehead as he spoke in a trembling voice. "This feels right."

A whisper rose from my backpack. "Oh, he's becoming conflicted." Simon cooed.

Brigette piped up with much enthusiasm. "He's awfully cute when he's going through a crisis. Does he look like this often Luce-goose?"

Ignoring my new nickname, I met Lockwood's gaze. "You know I'm not going anywhere."

"I know." His smile lit up the night and sent butterflies fluttering away in my chest.

"And we'll figure this out together." I gripped his hand with my own.

"Get a room!" one of the ghosts cried, I wasn't sure which. Another, this one I recognized as Simon shouted. "Heads up, you got a friend on the way!"

I rose to my knees, holing up a hand for silence. My living and dead companions obliged me. I listened carefully, opening my inner ear to the sounds that lay just beneath the surface. It came so quickly that I nearly toppled backward. Shouting, bone-crushing explosions and the sound of something _**heavy**_ hitting the ground **hard** and faintly, _the cracks of bones breaking_.

"Visual of something falling off the bridge. Oh, that's grisly." Lockwood said. "A pile of limbs. No one's body should look like that."

I reached for my rapier, the worn grip feeling soft within my palm giving me some sense of comfort. A foul taste had spread across my tongue, thick and rancid, slowly oozing down my throat as I saw the faintest glimmer of other light.

I stood, as did Lockwood.

We watched as the form glinted into existence, flitting between trees before slowly floating across the bridge. It made it halfway across before being blown over the side, falling into a heap of tangled limbs. Icy shards tabbed into my lungs, my throat tightening as the visitor's emotions flooded over me. Surprise, fear and most strongly, anger. It was bright as fire and destructive as the explosion that had killed him. The man who just wanted to go home.

"He's angry," I whispered. "He was going somewhere important. He was going to see someone important." my mouth lifted into a half-smile as I felt the apparition's bursting existence. "Someone he loved." My chest shook with the explosion. My bones ached with the crack.

Lockwood grabbed my arm, pulling me back to the beating and breathing. Back to him.

I took a deep breath filling my lungs with the freezing air as Lockwood pulled me close to him, looking down into my eyes.

"What did you hear Lucy?" He whispered. I could feel the ghost fog starting to spill around us as the ghost grew in strength.

"It was pulling me in, Anthony," I couldn't feel anything. My fingers were numb, the cold slowly setting into the rest of my body. "It was dragging me into its echo with its emotions. It was strong, I felt like I was drowning."

"Do you need to leave?" he asked, quickly. His brow furrowed in concern but I pulled away, shaking my head. "No. No, I'm fine now." I reminded myself we were in a park haunted by a ghost. We were here to do a job.

Anthony studied my face but was met with only my carefree smile as if nothing in the world was wrong. He frowned. "Let's take this slow then."

I nodded.

"We'll have to locate the Source but let's lace the ground with salt and filings to give us some breathing room."

I nodded again.

"I'll lead with the distraction. If it does anything you don't like…"

"Light him up with a flare." I finished, patting a canister at my belt.

"Spot on, as always." Lockwood kneeled down to check his bootlaces -don't want to trip when you've got an angry ghost after you- and I took the opportunity to peer into my knapsack. The two picture-children stared up at me, their faces gleeful. Well, Brigette's was. Simon was still a smear.

"Sit tight," I said. "We'll be home soon then I'll let you out."

"We aren't pets!" Simon blustered. "We're supernatural beings who cannot be-"

I zipped up the bag and turned back to Lockwood. "Ready?"

He nodded and stepped out of the iron circle. Dancing forward, his feet barely touched the ground.

The spirit, sensing his movement, heaved itself off the ground, the broken, shuffling thing advanced, pulling and sliding along the concrete. In my ears, I heard the rasp of its broken skin on the ground. The clicking of its fractured bones rattling inside its body.

Ectoplasm darted out in tendrils, vines of green ready to ensnare. Lockwood's blade flashed, green fizzing against silver. With every jab and slice, he drew it farther from its place of impact.

The ground there was scorched by the ectoplasm, blistering in the cold the visitor emanated. Quickly, I drew two packets of iron filings and salt and knelt by the scorched concrete. The icy temperatures seeped up through my leggings chilling my bones as I fumbled with the packets. I spread the contents out till the ground sparkled with the dull and crystalline reflections of iron and salt.

I watched as the visitor slowly shrank in size until only a pile of bones remained and even that disappeared in minutes.

"Nice work, Lucy. " Anthony gasped, sheathing his rapier. I blew a chunk of hair out of my eyes and gave him a rather bewildered smile. Standing, I said, "well, I've proved I'm worth more than just my pretty face, right Lockwood?"

"Yes, you've proved you can spread salt and iron on the ground."

A/N

THANKS FOR READING! Please review!


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N. we're in the double digits! I'm amazed by the response I've gotten, we're over 2,000 views and I can't wait to keep going! Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing!**

For many months, even years, after our time in France had ended, I often wondered what would have happened if I had done even one thing differently.

What would have happened if I had restocked the iron filings when I should have?

What would have happened if my sword had not broken in the hall of mirrors?

And most of all, I wondered if I had simply hidden the photograph of the ghost children in a drawer of my bedside tables?

Perhaps I would have moved it if I had not been so tired from my trip to silence the Limbless in the park but whatever the oversight, the fact is I did not.

So there sat the picture, in my knapsack waiting for some explorer to search the bag's contents and find it.

* * *

Our routine after a case was considerably different from what it had been at Portland Row. It was, most obviously, not our home, making our post case dress code inappropriate at times. We could no longer eat at our leisure. Instead, Holly rounded up the troops for the 10 o'clock breakfast in the dining room our hotel. Then we would repack our kitbags and practice rapier work. Holly insisted the routine would help acclimate our young agents and was significantly healthier for them. I wasn't sure if that was true but I had to admit that we made more progress in our days.

Once the food was in our system, I took Jane and Asha under my wing and we disassembled their kit bags

"Lucy, I'm almost out of silver seals," Jane said, inspecting the contents of her kit with a furrowed brow.

"Wait till you get to the bottom of the bag," I advised, sitting cross-legged on the rug beside her. When I was with Jacobs, it was always the older agents who watched me re-pack my kit bag and it felt complete somehow to offer the same guidance to the girls. "They tend to slip down."

Slowly, she unpacked her bag, laying each item on the floor. Asha was taking her duty with the utmost care. Each tool was gently placed on the rug. Filing packets sorted into neat little piles. Her eyes had kept a haunted glimmer since her return from the hospital. She was quieter than usual, her fingers shook as she withdrew the loops of chains from her duffel.

Holly lounged gracefully in a sofa, watching us lazily. She had gotten comfortable in France, resuming work as out assistant with gusto. If anything, she was more energized than she had been at Portland Row. Holy seemed to flourish under the newfound leadership over our scribes and state-issued scheduling.

"I had a dream last night," she said, suddenly. "We were all at the beach, sprawling in the sand."

"I wouldn't want to be on a beach in France," I replied. "Might be a ghost that takes the guise of hundreds of crabs."

Holly continued, ignoring me. "And I was burying my feet in the sand when-"

"You had a skeletal finger wedged between your toes." I finished.

Jane giggled, even Holly cracked a smile. "It was actually a shell,"

"My ending is better."

"Sure."

"Hey, Lucy," Asha spoke up. "Do you have any filings I could borrow?"

I shrugged. "You're going to give them back?" she stared at me blankly.

"You said borrow, that means you're going to return filings-" I sighed. "It was a joke." she continued to stare, her eyes deep pits with that haunted gleam sending shivers down my spine.

"Yes, in my bag," I said. "Just keep them." she stood and made for my bag that was propped against the far wall. I turned back to Jane, who was now rustling in her bag for her silver seals.

"I still can't find them," she moaned. "And Mr. Lockwood just gave me more!"

"Cheer up, Jane," I said straightening 2-inch chains on the rug so they were perfectly arranged. "We'll have George give you some of his if you can't find them."

Holly frowned, sitting upright on the sofa. "What's taking so long, Asha?"

"Can you not find them?" I asked, turning around to see the little mouse crouched in front of the bag frozen. "Bring it here, I'll look for them."

"Asha? What's wrong?" I ask again. She turns slowly and I see in her hands, glowing in the shadowy corner of the room, the ghost children's jar.

An elevator shaft opened in my chest and my heart plummeted. I couldn't breathe. I could not breathe. I started feeling faint, in blurring vision I saw shock slash across Holly's face as she realized what Asha held.

"Lucy?"

The tone she used broke my heart on impact. It was scared. It was so terribly scared.

" Ms. Carlyle, what's going on? What is that?" Jane stood, swaying on her feet.

"Lucy, what is that?"

 _Lucy._

 _What is that_?

"MR. LOCKWOOD!" Jane's scream pulled me back up the pit I had fallen in and back to the present. I opened my mouth to explain but it was too late. Anthony burst through the door, Quill, and George close behind. "Why in god's name are you yelling?"

"Look what Ms. Carlyle had in her bag!" Jane declared.

I looked at Lockwood, as he glanced at the ghost jar. He had been practicing rapier work with Seamus on the roof, sweat beaded on his forehead and his hair was disheveled. His eyes, though, hardened to chips of dark ice. I felt my heart plummet once again.

"Lucy," he said slowly, in an attempt to stay calm but I could feel his fury from where I sat. "What the hell is that?"

"It's the Source from St. Lavaline's," I said simply.

The inexplicable scenario I now found myself in was quite astounding. To try and rationalize my actions to Lockwood, who sought only to destroy the visitors, would be early impossible.

"Francis is the real problem here," I said, avoiding Lockwood's eye. "They know him. They can help us. I know you don't believe me-"

"No, Lucy," Lockwood said, is the rage now shaking his voice. "What I can't believe is that you would take a dangerous source and just carry it around, possibly endanger our team?"

"I know my track record isn't great," I conceded.

"Your record doesn't enter it!" Anthony growled. His anger filled the room. Holly, Asha, and Jane now clustered on the couch, eyes wide like owls perching on a branch. Quill and George shrank into the shadows, leaving me and Anthony, just a few feet apart, anger crackling like lightning between us.

"The fact that you would jeopardize our safety once with the skull is horrid enough but when you've done it again." His fists shook with anger. "You have betrayed us, Lucy. You've betrayed our trust."

I couldn't speak. My heart felt like it had been stabbed by a rapier blade. My lips trembled but I refused tears.

"You act as if you are blameless of secrets, Lockwood. But you are as guilty as I."

"Lockwood," George said, now stepping back into the line of fire. "Show me some proof that she has betrayed you. She only did what she thought was right for the company. She was looking to the future."

"More than you do," Kipps muttered under his breath. Lockwood glowered at him but Quill refused to wither under his gaze. "We can stamp out small hauntings for years but it won't do anything. Lucy is after the big picture."

Lockwood looked around at us all. George, Kipps and I standing like a trio of renegades revolting from under his rule. Holly with the girls sat meekly on the sofa, their expressions more frightened than rebellious.

"Holly?" He said, desperately.

"I don't think Lucy would ever have done anything to harm us and if she said it's under control, then it is."

"It is under control." I assured them. "we need another insider, like the skull. And Bridgette and Simon are, if not trustworthy, reliable. They want to help."

Lockwood crossed his arms and glaring left the room, his team now very much independent.

And as I watched him leave, I wished for the first but not the last time, that I had hidden the ghost jar out of sight.

That night, I was woken by a rustling of blankets and a sudden weight on my bed. Slowly, I opened my eyes and in the dim light, I saw dark brown hair and a blue nightgown. Then Asha's face appeared on the pillow beside my head. "Lucy?" She whispered.

I groaned something that resembled nothing in English.

"I can't sleep." She shivered.

I lifted my arm from under the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders, tucking her in. "Nightmares?"

She nodded.

"It's okay. I have them too."

Asha curled up against my side and I wondered if this was what it was like to have a little sister.

 **A/N**

 **Late, again. I'm just amazing at this. Maybe I should change it to Spreading Shadows Tuesdays?**

 **as always, thanks for reading! Please Favorite, Follow or review. Check me out on Tumblr and stay tuned for another chapter next Spreading Shadows Sunday! (If I can get my act together)**

 **Also, I have fallen in love with Doodlingraka and Graf fiction artwork on Tumblr. They do some amazing things for the Lockwood and Co fandom and all you** skullies **should check them out!**


	11. Chapter 11

My position at Lockwood and Co. was now hanging by a thread.

He couldn't fire me; I was contracted by the French government but he could limit my fieldwork. Limit wasn't even the word for it, he restricted me, he banned me. I didn't work on any cases for two weeks. It was petty. It was idiotic.

Holly, Quill, and George all fought it but every time they lost. So, I watched them go off every night. And as I waved good-bye to Asha, I found I didn't regret it. I was, in fact, emboldened. My decision wasn't wrong. I had done well. Lockwood couldn't see the big picture and he didn't want to. He wanted to keep plowing through ghost after ghost, hoping that it would end. His way would end nothing, but my way, it would result in a boat ride back across the channel with a feeling of pride.

So I moved on. I went to the archives and researched. I changed hotel rooms and stayed up late into the night talking to Brigette and Simon. I plotted ways to end this. I even hung up a map of Paris and put pins where we had investigated hauntings. I turned into George with crazy theories, connecting them all with red yarn. I was so close. I had all these puzzle pieces that I didn't have a place for but I knew someone who could help me put them together.

When Holly came to my door, informing me that I was free to join an investigation party, I pulled her into my room, hissing, "I need to talk to you!"

She inhaled sharply as she saw the state of my hotel room. Tossed bedclothes, crumpled newspapers, and torn files scattered on the coffee table. "What have you been doing?"

"I've been thinking."

"You are a messy thinker, Lucy" I gestured for her to sit down on the cleanest armchair, which she did.

"What have you been thinking about?" She asked, daintily crossing her ankles. She looked impeccable in an emerald green dress while I still wore my saggy pajamas.

"I've been thinking about Francis," I said. "I need to speak with him."

Holly thought for a moment. "Alright," she said. "I'll see what I can do."

Once again, Holly and I stood on a doorstep together, waiting for the deputy matron to admit us. Holly had made an appointment for that afternoon, her leverage as our manager could not be mistaken. She was a force to be reckoned with in a crisp blazer and knee-length skirt the color of cherries or her enemies blood. I couldn't be sure. I, too, had made more of an effort and had swapped the skirt and sweater for a compromise-a sweater dress. I shivered slightly, pulling my coat tight around me. A storm was brewing off the coast, sending frigid winds gusting off the water. The orphanage had moved to a spacious townhome on a tree-lined street. How they had gone from a run-down building to this was beyond me. Footsteps echoed in the hall beyond and the doors opened, revealing the Familiar face of Susan Black, still ragged and unkempt.

"Ms. Carlyle, Ms. Monro, welcome back," Ms. Black said, smiling. "Or, welcome, rather. This is a new building." Holly laughed politely and Ms. Black stepped back to let us in. She led us to a rather pretentious sitting room and seated us on a straight-backed sofa, muttering about tea. She left, leaving Holly and me alone.

"How did they find this place?" I asked. "St. Lavaline's has upgraded."

"Yes, indeed," Holly murmured. "Hardly looks like a children's home, to be frank." I hummed my agreement. Holly opened her mouth to say more but snapped it shut again.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing."

I glared at her.

"I was just wondering if Lockwood had given you an assignment yet?"

"He has failed to inform me of any cases," I said, stiffly.

"I see," Holly mused. We fell silent as Ms. Black returned to the room carrying two cups of tea. We smiled, thanked her, politely took the first sip and set the cups on the table. The French could not make tea. I swallowed hard, trying to rid the weed-killer taste from my mouth while Holly gave a dainty cough and proceeded. "Ms. Black, we would lie to discuss something with you."

Ms. Black looked at me, with pity in her eyes. "Oh, my dear, I am so sorry about what happened at the hospital. Francis can just get so attached to things, you see," she sighed, shaking her head. "Poor boy. You weren't hurt, were you?"

"A burning building fell on me, ma'am," I said, still choking on the gardener's nightmare.

"No, no," she laughed. "I meant when Francis attacked you."

"Oh, indeed," I smoothed my sweater dress, remembering how angry Lockwood had been to hear of this ankle biter's threats. "No, Ms. Black, he did not hurt me."

"Good," she leaned back in her chair in relief.

"That is not why we are here, Ms. Black," Holly simpered with a sweet smile. "We wish to speak to Francis. About the haunting."

"Oh," Susan sat up in her chair. "I see. Is the haunting not over? You burned the building, didn't you?" her eyes narrowed as though she blamed us for this possibility.

"No, Ms. Black," I said, swiftly. "The haunting is over. We would only like to interview Francis on his relationship with the visitor. For posterity."

Susan nodded. "How intriguing." Holly and I looked at each other excitedly. We both plastered on sweet, studious smiles like good, little agents. We were so close, I could practically taste it.

"Well, you see that's impossible."

"I beg your pardon?" I stammered.

"Francis was adopted three weeks ago. His mother's brother found him after all these years. Isn't that lovely?"

Holly recovered faster than I did. "why, yes, how nice." She said, a bit breathlessly while I struggled to pull my jaw up from the floor. Once I managed, I said. "Why has it been so long?"

"He lived in Scotland for several years. When he returned, he found out about Francis and came to adopt him. He is very wealthy, some researcher," once Ms. Black had started talking, words flowed from her like a broken dam. "He mentioned some society that funded him."

"What society?"

"Coran, no, Charon. Do you know it? I must confess that I've never heard of it but he was certainly very generous. He purchased us this new building."

"How lovely," Holly smiled, playing nice as I fell into silent shock. Francis's uncle, if he even was his uncle, was in league with the Charon Society. Wonderful. I recalled what Simon said of Francis. " _In the right hands, I fear he would be quite dangerous."_

Just wonderful. The Charon Society was not the right hands, they were very much the wrong hands. Dangerous hands. And Francis was ready to be molded into a weapon.

 **A/N**

 **Sorry if I've seemed distracted when I update and that I've been off of schedule recently. I've had some insane things going on in my life. I've been trying to get my driver's license. Yikes!**

 **And I was assaulted by a man at my college. I've been a mess. I strongly encourage everyone to speak with a teacher, a trusted friend or parent if anyone touches you or makes you feel uncomfortable. I didn't and it escalated. Things are under control now but I beg you, don't wait. Make someone aware.**

 **If you have any problems like this, please PM me. I am happy to talk to anyone and to help them as someone who has dealt with this.**

 **Wow, heavy author's note. Anyway, like, review and follow me on Tumblr. And please take care!**


	12. Chapter 12

Kipps's arm encircled me, pulling my body from the blast radius of the Greek fire. With the force of the explosion, we were flung backward.

I inhaled dust as I pawed my hair out of my eyes in time to watch Seamus lunge at the nearest relic-man, rapier blazing in the flickering light. Holly shrieked profanities as she ripped her rapier free and tackled the second relic-man. I sat up, squashing Kipps in the process.

Anyone who was not engaged in combat was laying in a bed of smoking embers and dust, all save one. Louis Tann stood in the eyes of the storm, hand on Francis's shoulder, ectoplasm swirling like a thick cloak around them.

I struggled upright, one hand pressed against my side to relieve the stabbing pain I felt there and picked up my sheathed rapier. With a flick of my wrist, the sheath sent flying across the room and I stalked toward the two.

# #.

Three hours earlier

#

"There's no light over Paris today," those words set me off on the most life-altering leg of my journey in France. I returned to my hotel room with Holly, feeling hopeless. Clueless. Listless.

I felt it all as I sat on a chair, staring at the walls of newspapers and red string.

My yarn had let me down, as had my intuition. I had a lead, I had one. It had been so close I could have reached out and grabbed it, then it slipped right between my fingers. Holly perched on my unmade bed - a brave move- and whispered, "I got a name from her."

Holly had lingered in the orphanage to question Ms. Black further but I had slipped, nay, bolted from the room. I stood out on the tree-lined street to breathe. I had needed to breathe.

"His name is Louis Tann. She gave me his business card."

"Let's make inquiries," I said. Holly nodded, offering to run down to the lobby. I agreed and she left, leaving me alone.

Well, not alone. The ghosts were there too.

They sat on the window, the overcast sky giving them enough darkness to flicker weakly. They twitched in the photograph, ectoplasm curling.

"There's no light over Paris today," Simon mused, his voice barely above a whisper. I didn't know if he was talking to me or to himself.

"If you know something, now would be the time to speak up," I growled, balling my fists in the now wretchedly hot sweater dress.

"We know Mr. Tann," Brigette said. "Thought, you probably don't want to talk to us. We are such deceiving creatures, we ghosts."

I was ready to stand up, swear profusely and demand them to tell me but that was what they wanted. And I didn't want to play their game any longer.

"Don't you want to know?" Brigette coaxed.

"No," I said, settling back down into my chair and smoothing my dress under my trembling fingers. "I don't need your help. Holly and I have this." I was a pretty good list, I had to admit. My devious untruthfulness had gotten me out of trouble very often but this time was different. As I spoke the words, I felt very, very unsure. I wasn't the leader, decision-making type. That was always Lockwood and in a pinch, George. But me?

No. It was in fact, inadvisable to place me in charge.

Brigette chuckled. "Bet you wish you had Lockwood."

Do you know what I said about not playing their game? Well, I followed their plan perfectly from then on out.

"How weak do you think I am?" I growled, standing up so quickly I knocked over the armchair. "Lockwood is lucky I'm around to fix his problems He is an absolute moron, at the best of times, an imbecile of the highest order. He is a greedy, gorgeous, big-headed, incredibly attractive and annoying man who I could strangle in an instant. Just, why do you think I need him to fight my battles?"

I felt all doubt fly from my body, replaced with burning red indignation. In spite, I felt confident taking place of my fear.

Lockwood solve my problems? Bet.

When Holly returned with her information, she found me stuffing the jar into the toilet bowl of the ensuite bathroom.

"What are you doing?"

"If they insist on being vile, they belong in here!" I said, slamming down the toilet lid and ignoring the pleas for forgiveness and disinfectant.

"Ah," holly perched on the edge of the tub, clutching a slip of hotel stationery. "Louis Tann, 35. Father, Andrew Tann, sister, Vivienne Tann, both deceased."

"Job? Residence? Phone Number?"

"No luck on the phone number left a message, but he worked for Golden Age Antiques here in Paris. Has been a recluse in his home for five years, since he returned from Scotland, as Mrs. Black said."

"Connected to the Charon Club?" I asked, settling down on the bathroom floor.

"Definitely," Holly confirmed. "He was sent to Scotland by them and, after I did some digging, was in contact with the Winkmans."

"How?"

"Not many details. His past employer was sketchy."

I sighed, pursing my lips. A gargled voice came from the toilet bowl. "His father dealt in black market relics. Andrew was in the society with us."

Holly and I exchanged a furtive glance before I reached over and lifted the lid. "Any ideas if it was a family business?"

"How should we know?" Brigette sniffed. "We're dead remember."

I slammed the lid down again and pulled my hair back from my face, trying to think.

"We could stop by and talk to him?" Holly suggested. "Not just you and me though Luce. If he is a relic man, I don't want to face him alone."

"Not Lockwood," I said, quickly. I couldn't bear to see his face right now.

"Of course," Holly raised her hands in a placating gesture. "Seamus and Kipps?"

I nodded. "I'll get the scribes going on-" Holly started to say but I cut her off. "I'm done running everything past Lockwood."

"Oh. Okay,"

"If we do this, it's you, me, Seamus, and Kipps. No government, no restrictions."

"Very well," Holly agreed. "I'll get that address copied down. Tomorrow morning?"

Looking back over my shoulder at the midday sky peeking clearly through the windows, I shook my head. "No, I want this done today."

"Alright. I'll get Quill and Seamus."

###

One Hour Later

###

Our taxi dropped us off late afternoon when a dreary daze seems to sink into the very bones of the world. This is a time of yawns, sleepy eyes and multiple watch checks. Quill hefted the only bulky bag we carried over his shoulder and looked at the house in admiration. It was a terrace house, relatively new, very nice. A place where people took their shoes off in the entryway.

Holly gave Seamus a once over to ensure his uniform completeness than looked at me expectantly. I marched up the top steps feeling a weightless fall over me.

Maybe it was the lack of kit bags since we had chosen to travel light?

Maybe it was the absence of the chattering ghost children, who were still in the commode's porcelain depths?

Or maybe it was because I had a purpose again?

I rapped my knuckles against the dark wood door and stepped back, folding my hands neatly in front of me. As the door opened, Holly, Kipps, and Seamus closed ranks, ready to pounce on our prey. The Victim of today was a small old woman, about 70 years of age, stooped and thin but with bright green eyes that snapped with a fire.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Her accent reminded me of home, a thick brogue that screamed of the north.

"Lucy Carlyle, inquiring a meeting with Mr. Tann," I said, stepping forward and passing the old woman. The interior of the house was just as pretentious as the exterior. We did not remove our shoes. "We'd like to ask him some questions about a child from St. Lavaline's orphanage."

"I don't know about any boy," the lady said quickly. "But if it's Mr. Tann you'll be wanting, best leave a message with me. I'm Mrs. Neil, his housekeeper."

I looked around at the entrance hall. White marble floors, a grand wooden staircase climbing into the sky. Doors leading off to all sorts of regions of the house. As I turned round to face Mrs. Neil, I saw a flash of movement in a doorway and heard the creak of floorboards. "Is he not home?"

"No, Ma'am, he's away," Mrs. Neil shuffled her clogged feet. She too had seen the flash of movement. "As I said, I'll take a message."

"What about the child from St. Lavaline's?" Holly asked. "Is Francis home?"

"I don't know of any boy named Francis in this house!" Mrs. Neil insisted.

I tilted my head to the side. "Whoever said Francis was a boy?" Mrs. Neil blanched a deathly white and wobbled in place.

"I suggest you sit down, ma'am," Kipps said. "We are agents of Lockwood and Co. If you cause problems, we'll have to charge you with obstructing an investigation." he led her away to some sitting room in the depths of the house while I shut my eyes and listened. Great pulsing energy ran under this house, like a supernatural heart under my feet.

"Downstairs," I said to Holly and Seamus. The moments that stretched between our finding a door down to the basement and our descent down the stairs felt endless. In it, I endured Holly's anxious breaths and Kipps's stomping footsteps. When we stopped on the landing, I took a steadying breath and pushed through the door. The room beyond was the length of the house and lined with alcoves filled with shelves, on which a variety of curiosities glowed with an ethereal green.

I stepped forward, lingering on the outskirts of the room. I avoided the great mosaic that was embedded in the floor. Holly paused to study the art but I barely glanced at it - hooded figure on some boat- before swirling my eyes around the room.

Kipps and I met eyes and had a silent conversation.

Kipps: Ask for him?

Me: But he could be waiting for us.

Kipps: Ambush? Mrs. Neil warned him?

I shrugged: Maybe.

Kipps: well, just do it and if we're ambushed, we deal with it.

I sighed and pulled Seamus closer to me. "Mr. Tann?" no one leaped forward from the shadows to stab me so I felt encouraged.

"Mr. Tann? It's Lockwood and Co., we've come to speak to Francis,"

A great, monstrous, shadow stretched out before me on the tiled floor. I turned and saw a man in the doorway, his hand resting on a large, silver sword. Holly and I backed into each other, sandwiching Seamus between us.

"Lockwood and Co.?" the man said softly. He stepped out o the shadows into the light of the singular lamp, swinging from the ceiling. His broad shoulders and hulking figure was cloaked in a dark trench coat. The single iridescent feather earring hanging from his ear was the only colors he wore. "Yes, I know of you." his time in Scotland had given him a rough accent, I noted. "You were acquainted with Julius Winkman?"

I winced. "Acquainted isn't the word I would use."

"Lockwood and Co. The Bone Glass, you just seem to foil our best-laid plans."

"Maybe if your plans aren't endangering people's lives," I said, placing a shaking hand on my rapier hilt. "We wouldn't have to intervene."

"And what right do you have to intervene between me and my nephew?" Mr. Tann asked. I looked behind me; an alcove door opened and let in two more burly men, three times the size of Kipps. Panic began to grip my stomach tight in its fist. I tapped my rapier hilt with my fingernails, trying to stay calm. "Your nephew is a witness to a haunting. I need to speak to him about his involvement with the ghosts."

"Francis doesn't wish to speak to you," Louis said. Two more men slid into the room. We bunched together, safety in numbers. "I need to ask him about Brigette and Simon. He'll understand,"

"Francis doesn't' want to talk to you," Mr. Tann repeated and snapped his fingers. The four relic-men inched forward.

"Is he here?" Holly asked, gripping Seamus's hand in her own.

"He's always here." Mr. Tann stepped aside to reveal the small form of Francis. He seemed to have grown a few inches and the steely glint in his eye was new.

"I like it here," I murmured. "I know what I can do here, I'm powerful here."

"Lease just talk to us!" I insisted. "I want to know about Brigette and Sim-"

"YOU KILLED THEM!" Francis screeched. The glass vials of glowing ectoplasm on the shelves exploded and chaos broke loose. Someone drew a rapier. Seamus ripped away from Holly. I unbuckled a canister of greek fire and in a blur, chucked it across the room.

##

Now

##

"You killed them," Francis spat.

"They were already dead Francis," I said, sending spears of ectoplasm away with my blade. "They wanted to manipulate you. That's what they wanted to do with me," the tendrils of ectoplasm seemed to emanate from Francis himself as if he controlled the energy.

"They were my friends!" he shouted, the green in the waves of ghostly otherlight became extraordinarily vibrant. I looked over my shoulder for a split second. Holly and Seamus were out of their league and Kipps was unconscious. I had to end this quickly.

"They aren't gone," I said, playing my hand in full. The ectoplasmic energy flickered.

"What?" Francis's voice broke. He sounded so hopeful, so lost. My heart went out to him.

"They are still in this world. We didn't destroy them."

The storm vanished as Francis fell to his knees and Mr. Tann tossed the boy over his shoulder. My vision went blurry, I felt dizzy. The pain in my side was excruciating. I stumbled but strong arms wrapped around me.

"Woah, Luce," a warm voice murmured in my ear. "Take it easy."

"Tann?"

"He's gone, Lucy." my vision cleared enough for me to look up and glimpse familiar hair and eyes. "Oh no. Not you."

Anthony smiled down at me.

"I'm going to kill Holly." I growled then blacked out.


	13. Bonus Upload

**A/N**

 **So I was going to write the chapter that I had outlined but I felt like Lucy and Lockwood needed some alone time to work things out but out of the line of fire during a mission. So, I wrote this thing. Consider it Chapter 12.5**

* * *

It's rather disconcerting to wake up with a man in bed next to you. Particularly when your last memory is of battling in a relic-man's basement. The hotel room was half dark, faint light trickling in through the parted curtains. The traffic on the street below was a soft flurry of background noise. Blinking sleep out of my eyes, my gaze fell on Lockwood's head on the pillow next to mine, fast asleep.

Once I had finished scrambling out of bed and checking that all clothes were on their proper owners, I stepped beside the bed once more and patted his cheek.

Anthony waking up is a slow process. It consists of a lot of grunts, sighs and rubbing fists into eyes. When he was at last conscious he had the nerve to look at me as though I was the intruder. "Lucy what's the matter."

"The matter at hand is that you are in my bed." I crossed my arms over my chest, partly to display my indignance and partly because my bra was missing. Scanning the room quickly, I found it neatly folded next to my overcoat and shoes on an armchair. I also found that this room was not my room, which made my prior statement awkward. As if finding myself asleep next to Lockwood after the words we had had with each other wasn't awkward enough.

"The hotel removed you from your suite. Something about keeping up the other guests and graffiti on the walls. I had them move you here while you were unconscious."

"Ah," I said, shifting nervously. Anthony sat up in the bed, his dress shirt rumpled with sleep. "You can sit on the bed, Lucy." I nodded, my head spinning and as I rubbed the ache in my side I felt bandages padding my ribs.

Perching on the edge of the bed, I kept my eyes on the duvet, seething with unequivocal embarrassment. I was mortified. We had cuddled, kissed passionately but had never done anything. We may have done, but France had ruined that for us. But at that moment, I had almost wished that everything could have gone back to normal. That I missed how things had been at Portland row. Here in France, I had a purpose, but at Portland Row, I had a home.

"Did they find Mr. Tann?" I asked, folding and unfolding my hands in my lap.

"Francis vanished with him. Police can't find traces of them anywhere. It was as if they disappeared into thin air."

"Curious," I said, "who..who did all this?" I gestured at my torso, meaning both the bandaging and the missing undergarments.

"Holly fixed you up," Anthony dragged a hand across his face to stifle a yawn. "Bruised rib, I think."

We sat in silence after that. Not even comfortable, companionable silence but it was a great pregnant pause that involved many sweeps f our gazes across the room and intent clearing of our throats. I looked around the small living space, and out the window at the now brightening sky beyond before opening my mouth to speak.

"Anthony-"

"Lucy-"

"Sorry," I said, blushing.

"You go ahead," Lockwood said, courteously.

"Thanks," I cleared my throat and looked over at his bedhead state. "Anthony, I'm sorry that I yelled at you like that. I should have told you about the ghost children."

He nodded. "Thank you, Lucy, but I am at fault too. I'm sorry that I said you betrayed our trust and I apologize for suspending you from your duties for so long. It was petty of me."

I dipped my head, twisting the duvet between my thumb and forefinger. "Thanks for saying that."

"No problem."

We lapsed into silence again. Our apologies had been said. Our manners back into play, we had nothing else to say. Which was now more awkward than having a million things to say.

"Lucy," Lockwood said. "I must ask you something. What was your plan?" I settled back against the headboard. We were now but inches apart but it felt like miles. I thought for a minute then said, "I don't really have a plan. I just have a person I want to help."

"Francis."

"He needs to be guided. He needs to be trained. I know what it is like to have a power that seems to control you instead of you it." my heart pounded, voicing the passion that I felt for this far better than my words ever could. I could help him. I could help Asha. both children who were too young for the weight on their shoulders. "The relic men must be responsible for The Problem spreading to France but Francis is like a catalyst.

"You should have seen it, Anthony, he can control the ectoplasm, maybe even the ghosts themselves."

He glanced at me, eyes trying to catch mine. "But what can we do?"

"He's the power behind The Problem, I can feel it, but if we take him, if we train him, we can stop this. We have the ghost children; they know the Charon Club, they know spirits, and they know Francis. We can fix this."

"Then we can go home," Anthony whispered. I finally met his gaze, hope flowering in my chest. We could go home. Damn a purpose, I just wanted to go home. Lockwood was silent for a moment than dipped his head. My breath caught in my throat, he had agreed.

"All right. Let's get George on this. He'll do some digging but we can't do anything until we know where Francis and Louis are."

"Thank you, Lockwood," I said. Something flickered in his eyes when I spoke his surname, not Anthony.

I had to build up the walls again. We had apologized but there was still something that held me back. There would always be something that would make him not trust me. There would always be another skull or another locket and I couldn't let myself be hurt by his distrust. And I couldn't do that to him again.

"I… I don't think we can be as we were."

His face didn't flash anger or hurt but instead, understanding. "I see."

"I...I love you, Anthony, I do but here, in France, I can't let myself."

We both stared at the far wall, pain stabbing my heart as my arms yearned to hold onto him. But I could not and I would not. So I sat, fingers folded and eyes prickling as my soul screamed for me to take it back, and I did not.

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Look at my little babies being all mature; apologizing and breaking up with each other all in one chapter. Ugh, so proud. And it really is the best for both of them. Your regularly scheduled programming will return with catacombs, Shining Boys and Kipps! Oh my!**

 **Thanks for reading this bonus upload. Chapter thirteen will be up by next Sunday!**


	14. Chapter 13

**Two uploads in one weekend? What is this? A consistent upload schedule? Never.**

Breaking bones under your feet sounds as if you are treading on crushed ice only ice never stares back at you with empty eye sockets.

"Watch that femur," Holly advised gingerly picking her way across the floor that was littered with remnants of since-departed Parisians. All around and bologna stank of the unforgettable reek of death and dust. Asha sneezed.

"It smells like mothballs in here" she whispered pushing up her sunglasses higher on the bridge of her nose. Anthony had purchased her a pair for the specific case as Paris Catacombs promised to be burning bright with death glows. I helped her over a scattered ribcage and looked around, shelving built into the walls contained hundreds of skeletons. More were around every corner, bursting from every chamber.

The upper chambers had been cleared to host guided tours for the general public but after three attacks, the city had shut them down. Here, in the bowels of Paris, far below the Seine and farther in the network than anyone had been since the start of The Problem in Paris was were our job started. We were to hem in the skeletons using all the silver, salt, iron and lavender we had. This place was the hell to Paris's heaven and we had to make it safe.

So we had brought in the cavalry. Kipps, Holly, Seamus, Asha and me.

Jane was home sick with a cold and George and Lockwood were caught up in the Francis and Tann debacle. This was our mission. So with a map in hands and Holly's type A personality raring to go we have come up with a plan. Start from the bottom and work our way up.

"Don't suppose this will be a fast case?" Kipps asked hopefully. Holly shook her head, headlamp and clipboard oh so professional. "We have to be thorough."

"Have we reached the bottom yet, at least?" Seamus asked. He had grown two inches in the time we had been in France but, he confided to me, still had a ways to go to catch up to his three older brothers.

"Another two levels," came the disheartening reply.

I kept quiet partly because my rib was smarting and partly because I was still trying to acclimate to this new unknown. Lockwood and I? done. Francis? gone. Future? In the air. I was still caught up in my problems but at least I had the ghosts kids back. Kipps rescued them from the toilet bowl before housekeeping found them and though it had taken them a while to forgive me, they had at least supported my plan to try and help Francis. Supported maybe wasn't the word for it. Tolerated was another. I had threatened them with it furnaces if they didn't help.

Upon reaching the lowest levels of the Catacombs that have been uncovered we started our routine. I took out a metal tin lavender and a blowtorch and set fire to the herbs washed in the smoke in the air. That would settle any spirits that were lurking in the shadows so we could set up our supplies in peace.

We slipped into a rhythm. Kipps sprinkled salt and iron filings across the ground like confetti. Asha used a squeeze bottle of lavender and salt water to dampen all skeletons text into the walls. Seamus and Holly fixed iron and silver charms to the walls at random intervals. Slowly we made our way back up to the maze of corridors and chambers.

"Hang on," Seamus said. "Where're my other charms?" He rifled through his bag hurriedly. I wafted another puff of lavender smoke in the air then tucked the blowtorch under my arm. "When did you pack your bags?"

"This morning." He said. "Asha and I did them together. Asha, have you seen my second bag of charms?"

"No, why would I?" Asha crossed her arms in indignation.

"You didn't take them, did you?" Seamus accused.

"Why would I take them? My bag is full of lavender and salt!" Asha stomped her foot angrily, cracking open a skull with her heavy-soled boots. As Holly attempted to divide the remaining charms and keep the bickering tweens from adding another skeleton to the catacombs Kipps waved me over to his side.

"Look at this Lucy," he muttered, pointing at the wall. I looked. It wasn't just a wall I noted it has some sort of etching into the dusty worn with years of Darkness Stone. I figure cloaked in the billowing Cape standing on a boat a long pole in its hand. It looked awfully familiar. It was the familiar, oh-I-know-this, on the tip of your tongue kind of familiar. But I couldn't place it with arguing children, Holly's shrill attempts at mollification and Kipps's heavy breath.

"Kipps, stop breathing in my ear," I whispered. A chill shivered down my spine. I could feel something around us, leeching off the hurt and anger. I had to focus on the job, not some artwork.

"I'm over here," Kipps said. He stood a good foot away and a little to the front of me. The breathing I was hearing was right behind me.

"Huh," I said, drawing my rapier from its sheath and thrusting it behind me. Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw a boy wearing patched breeches and a loose shirt standing behind me, clutching a rosary in his translucent fingers. As my silver sword burned into him, his eyes almost looked human. They almost looked like they were in pain. The visitor burst into whispered of smoke.

"Let's stop arguing and get the job done," I said, wiping ectoplasm off my blade. "We still have a long way to go."

Seamus and Asha nodded meekly as I lit a new bunch of lavender. As we spiraled higher towards the sky and city above, we stayed silent. I lit each bunch of lavender with new frustration. The etching on the wall was now burned into my mind. I tried to puzzle out the image but it refused to be solved.

Later that night, tucked into bed, lulled by the green light oozing from the ghost jar, my eyes snapped open. I knew it. I knew where I had seen it. Louis Tann's basement floor.

I shot up in bed. "Brigette, I need to know what the sign of the Charon Club is and if they ever used the catacombs as a meeting place?"

Bridgette laughed softly. "Now you're asking the right questions, Lucy."

 **A/N**

 **Aw snap! Things are happening! We are nearing the end folks. I have three or four more chapters planned then the tale of Lockwood and Co. In France will be over. I'm so excited and scared and sad all at the same time.**

 **I'm graduating from culinary school in less than four weeks before I go to university to finish my arts degree. I'm going to try to finish writing the next few chapters during spring break so hopefully, every update will be on time!**


	15. Chapter 14

I've seen many stashes in my day -George's unholy collection of dirty pants being one of them- but even our storeroom of delightfully spooky sources paled in comparison to the one we found behind the wall with the Charon seal.

Asha's breath escaped in a startled gasp as we let the dust settle and dropped our crowbars. A green glow bathed us in an ectoplasmic other light. While our storeroom had neat rows of metal shelves, this was a room of piles, jars, bones, and accessories that gave off a deep, unearthly hum. There was so much noise that I could not discern one voice from another but the chorus of a thousand visitors cried out in protest.

"All right," I said, kicking bricks out of the way and dousing the room in a spray of lavender water silencing the voices inside. "Let's get started."

Amongst the dust, lavender fumes and stink of death, Asha and I donned silver-net gloves and grasped handfuls of sources, dumping them into sacks. It was sweaty and grueling work but it gave me time to think. That morning, George had slipped me a folder before I had left for the catacombs. It had been some time since I had requested information on Asha's parents. Being bleary-eyed from little to no sleep, I looked at it and asked. "What's this?"

"It's the research you asked for?"

I looked up at him, then back at the folder.

"You know, about Asha."

"Oh," I took the folder. Opening it, I took one look at the photo on top and snapped it shut again. That was entirely too much blood for that morning hour. "Summary?" I requested, swallowing hard.

"Iris Pence found dead in a rented-out room in a circle of bones. The mark of the Charon Club burned onto her forehead."

"My god, were they tried?" I asked, flipping past the crime scene photo to one of Iris. Same mousey look ut with bright green eyes.

"They paid off the judge to chalk it down to circumstance. Not sure how but they did take custody of her daughter, Asha Verity Pence, who was six at the time." George shuffled his feet. "You say Asha thinks she's Iris's source?" I nodded. "They have no record of her remains being incinerated and all of her belongings were absorbed by the Charons."

I sat down on a bench in the lobby, George settling beside me. "They took everything from her. Her assets and her daughter."

"I did some research on the name," George said. "Charon was a ferryman in Greek mythology who transports the dead across the River Styx to their judgment."

"They think they're clever," I shook my head. But it all made sense. Experiments with deaths and hauntings, the way Bridgette and Simon had killed themselves. They were ferrying people to the Other Side and now with Francis, they could control them.

Bags of relics heavy over our shoulders, Asha and I marched back up to the streets of Paris and into a waiting taxi. Into the massive salt-fire furnaces that the government had built, we chucked our spoils, the flames turning green and the screams shrieking one final time. And it was at that moment that Asha turned to me, her eyes reflecting the emerald fire, looking entirely like her mother.

"Thank you, Lucy," she said and hugged me. I didn't know what she was thanking me for but as I wrapped my own arms around her, I couldn't help but feel a tinge of unease.

Could Asha really be her mother's source? Was I embracing a supernatural anomaly?

The old team was back together. It was in moments like that day, when we all occupied chairs and sofas, and the smell of tea was in the air that we felt at home. As if we were almost back in Portland Row. only, our clients were dead and encased in a silver glass jar.

"Right," Lockwood cleared his throat. Holly's pen perched eagerly above her pad of paper, ready to take notes. "What's the first question?"

George consulted his list. "What is the Charon Club?"

"As if you don't already know," Simon scoffed but Bridgette, shoving her brother out of the frame, answered. "A collection of people who agree with the late Marissa Fittes's theories of the supernatural but we have taken ownership by adding our own research. We don't just want to go to the Other Side. We want to control it." I relayed the information as best I could.

"Did you have something to do with The Problem in London?" George asked.

"Yes," Simon's voice, though still out of the photo's frame, came to me loud and clear. "The Tann's were in communication with a mole in the orpheus society. They coaxed Marissa from a distance."

After I had passed on Simon's words and Holly had finished scribbling furiously, Lockwood proceeded. "What is the Club's purpose in Europe?"

"They think they've unlocked immortality through the Other Side," Brigette said. "And with Francis, they can do with it whatever they like."

I repeated this omen and we fell silent. Lockwood passed me a cup of tea which I sipped, settling back into the cushions of my armchair.

"Hang on," kipps said, speaking up from beside the mantelpiece. "How would the Other Side lead to immortality?"

"Just like Fittes did, remember?" George said, pushing his glasses up his nose. "But I think the Charons have found another way. By killing their human bodies to become a haunting themselves."

"But they aren't mindless visitors," Holly pointed at the ghost jar at its place on the coffee table. Simon called Holly something I didn't bother to translate.

"No, they aren't," George said, "they've got to be type 3's to have their souls remain intact."

"And in the basement," Kipps cut in. "Francis shattered all those ghost jars but nothing took form. That room was seething with emotion. Visitors should have lapped it up but there was only other light and ectoplasm."

I ran a hand through my hair, the tea now unpleasant in my mouth. "Francis could control the form they took,"

"Which means," Lockwood said, slowly. I could see his mind racing, turning over all the new information. "He is their ticket to only Type Three's."

The room was quiet as we unpacked our new discoveries and stored them away in our minds. We had thought that Marissa Fittes had been our worst enemy but now it seemed Francis was a far greater threat. He was a catalyst to the Charon Club's ambition and there was no stopping them from flooding across Europe and then the world.

I met Lockwood's gaze, we all knew the gravity of the situation but he and I felt it heavier than any other. Could we do this? Could we stop this and still save Francis?

"Where is Francis now, do you know?"

"We can give you a list of old Charon hideouts but no promises," Bridgette said. Lockwood smiled after I had relayed the message. Holly readied her pen and paper and we all leaned forward in expectation. "Fire away."

 **A/N**

 **Bombshells! Left and Right!**

 **So, where do you think the Charons will be hiding? Any Paris sites that should be a secret organization lair?**

 **Let me know in the comments or on Tumblr! I would love to hear your thoughts and to see who's the closest. Thanks for reading, on yet another Spreading Shadows Sunday! Take care!**


	16. Chapter 15

It took me three weeks to write this chapter. I was tempted to push it off another week but fifteen is where I wanted to stop, it was the age that I started writing Lockwood and Co. fanfiction. So to write my last multi-chapter L&Co fic now and end, it at chapter fifteen is just a full circle. I want to thank everyone who read this series, favorited and commented. You are all lovely humans and I am so thankful and blessed to have this be a hobby of mine. And I hope you'll forgive me for posting a day late, again.

Destiny is an unexplainable thing. I would, now, stop and explain what I mean but that defeats the purpose. Well, I'll have a stab at it. Destiny is like finding out everything you've done in your entire life has led you to a moment, a climactic finale. And I was nearing mine.

The list that Simon and Bridgette made was extensive. We spent nearly a week searching and crossing off the list one by one. It was exhausting and morale was running low.

We had been in France for six months and we weren't homesick, we were dying for familiar faces and our beds. Even Asha seemed grayer than usual. I'm not sure if that were because of many weeks as a roommate to Holly or if the circumstances around her mother's death had started drag her down.

It was with much yawning and bleary eyes that we - Lockwood, Holly, Jane, Asha and I- set out to cross off one last location off the list.

Versailles.

We had arranged for the building to be opened for us but discreetly. After so many misses, we didn't want our first chance of catching Tann to be spoiled by an obvious entrance. Some side doors were left unlocked and security was made aware of our presence. But if the security was in Tann's pocket, we could kiss our chances of catching him goodbye.

The moon shined a bright white, reflecting off my rapier blade. Lockwood's arm bumped into mine as we slipped around the door and peered into a corridor beyond.

The palace, a world of brocade and forgotten royalty, was still. Silent. And seemingly empty.

We scarcely drew breath as we slithered between corridors, listening intently. If Tann were here, we would no doubt be able to feel the psychic charge. While Jane's brow was furrowed in concentration, my hearing was blocked by two ghosts insistently whispering in my ear.

"Oh I can hear the visitors rustling," Bridgette muttered. I too could hear the walls around me rustling, hisses of visitors drawing strength and itching to take form. A breath had been taken in the great palace of Versailles and the exhale would rain down like frigid fire. I looked to Lockwood, his eyes holding steady mine. Our relationship, fragile, had broken here, but our trust in each other was still intact. I had risked my life, he had saved it. When he had recklessly thrown himself into danger,

I was there to pull him back to safety. We were inevitable.

My back prickled but with my eyes fixed on Lockwood, I could take a steadying breath whatever the situation. He would watch my back and me, his. Pulling out a map I had snitched from George, I spread the paper out on the marble floor.

"We are here, in the prince's court," I said, tapping my finger on a spot highlighted in blue.

"I say split up," Lockwood said, inspecting the two wings sprawled out on the map. "Holly, Asha, and Jane will take the north wing. You and I will finish the South."

Holly nodded, her two underlings huddling beneath her wings, like chicks tucked under a mother hen.

"We'll meet in the hall of mirrors," I said. "Be careful but be thorough." The girls nodded, and I shot them an encouraging smile before we parted ways.

The palace, surely sparkling and breathtaking in daylight was unearthly in the twilight. The ominous shadows thrown by busts and statues cast a forest of shade on the marble floor; branches of arms and boughs stretching to grasp me as I walked by.

The spooky copse of shadows aside, Lockwood's presence beside me burned back every angry spirit. The heat made me blush as did the thought of him so close. He was intoxicating. Light-headed I tried to remember how we had agreed to split, and that I was on a case and most important how to breathe.

But my body was betraying me.

We made our way around the ring, finding it empty of inhabitants of the physical variety but the supernatural was beginning to awaken. Wisps of fog oozed between doors, spectors in ball gowns, powdered wits, and all sorts of shiny, jeweled pieces lined the hallways, some necks broken, most severed, and all guises gruesome. I shivered under their vacant stares.

"All right you two," I hissed at my backpack. "I'm going to need some help."

"Let's make it into a game," Simon said. " I'll say you if you are warm or not, okay?"

I rolled my eyes and turned down a corridor.

"Freezing cold," Bridgette chirped. Backtracking, I went in the opposite direction, Anthony calling, "what are you doing?"

I ignored him. I could feel something g writhing in my stomach, a pull toward the dark heart of this place. I could feel a presence, one that was as strong as Francis had been in the basement, if not stronger. I could make this better.

My feet felt weightless as I logged down hall after hall, the ghost children whispering in my ear.

"Cold."

"Cold."

"Less cold."

"Luke-warm."

My heavy boots pounded against the long U of the Hall of Mirrors. I paused, Brigette whispering, "hot as the sun,"

With the encouragement, I took off down the hall. Golden statues left eerie shadows, their eyes following me down the hallway till I stopped dead in my tracks. The stares of the sculptures boring into my back as I head Simon murmur, "burning hot."

It was in fact, ice cold. My breath clouded in the air but when my eyes met Francis's, we both stopped breathing. He stood but a few feet from me, a cloud of ectoplasm swirling.

"You."

"Yes, me." I gasped. The cold, the gold, and the smoke began to sicken me, making it dangerously hard to breathe. There was a heavy psychic pressure that weighed me down, pushing me to my knees.

"You took everything from me," the pressure was emanating from this twig of a boy. His eyes, black as the midnight sky, void of any starlight, pulled the life out of me.

"Two ghosts is everything?" I asked. "What about Tann? He took away your freedom. He's going to turn you into a weapon." Lockwood skidded to a halt behind me, drawing his rapier. I held up a hand, holding him back from launching across the space to tackle the kid. Holly and the girls closed ranks around me.

"Don't let him control you," I pleaded, extending my hand, bridging the gap between us. Simon looked at my hand then snapped his eyes back up, fury burning in them like a supernova. "You are despicable." then the world sideways.

An explosion the power of an industrial canister of greek fire- and I knew what that felt like -I was flown against a golden statue, sending it toppling to the ground.

"How do I know you aren't trying to control me?" Francis screamed and, through spotty vision, I saw the ghosts who had lines the halls flood towards him, a tide of spectral beings. I scrambled to my feet, pulling my rapier free and tossing my bangs out of my eyes. So talking wouldn't work. I had no plans beyond this. I cracked my neck and braced myself. I would have to improvise.

He was still screeching when I burst through the fog, rapier lashing. His strength was undeniable. The ghosts took form, raging with green fire, sending Jand and Asha skidding away. Holly hoisted her salt gun, sending volleys into the bank of oncoming videos but could make a dent. Lockwood was a blur of parries, slashes, and silver rapier swings. He seemed to barely break a sweat until he paused, the movement weighing him down. My team was being battered mercilessly and I needed to turn the tides.

"Hey!" I shouted. Francis snapped his gaze to meet mine, the green fire pouring from his sockets. "Everyone is trying to control me," he said, his voice cracking. "Brigette and Simon liked me."

Every once in a while, you'll get these thoughts, a little voice that tells you not to do something. Well, as I tried to parry a shard of ectoplasm, I heard that voice. My rapier cracked in the collision with the statue, shattered and that little voice told me I had made a mess of things. There was only one way I could really diffuse the ticking time bomb that was Francis Tann.

I looked around me, the world slowing down. Lockwood was flung against a mirror, cracking the glass and sending shards flying. Asha screamed, tears streaming down her face as Holly lay dazed on the floor, Jane was the only one still standing. She flung flares, salt bombs, silver filings every which way. Glass and silver fell like rain, ghost fog rose to our chests, choking our lungs with the frosty condensation.

I flung my backpack off my shoulders and took the ghost jar in both hands. I could feel their excitement thrumming beneath my fingertips, the green light turning my skin sallow.

"They aren't gone," I shouted and threw the jar to the ground. Flecks of moonlit glass peppered my skin like little stars in a black sweater galaxy. A blast of air, so cold, I could feel frost forming my skin. Two small spectors, the size of Asha appeared. One, a girl in a blue dress, now tattered with age and a boy, whose face was burned beyond recognition. They took the hands of each other and looked over their shoulders at me and winked. Simon and Bridgette stepped through the fog, walking through the surrounding ghosts, stopping in front of Francis.

"you...Simon….Bridgette," his face crumpled, as tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Hello, Francis," Bridgette whispered. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder, Simon doing the same. Francis let out a gasp, as their light grew brighter, like an exploding star.

I ran to Asha and Holly, shielding them from the burning light. I closed my eyes, their presence so strong it blazed white beneath my eyelids. And it was in that moment, the white-hot glare singing my hair, that I thought, destiny is a funny thing.

I had thought that my being an agent was the final goal. That once I had achieved that, I would be happy, fulfilled, or whatever. Then the road had twisted, and I found myself in France. France was the end goal.

The light dimmed, leaving cold air to rush over my blistering skin. I could hear sirens wailing in the distance. Slowly, I turned from my huddle of agents to see that the hall was free of visitors. No spectral shapes remained, just toppled statues, broken glass and the still form of Lockwood against a mirror. The girls were starting to roll away from the knot of limbs and hair we had formed, cracking glass beneath our weight.

Bridgette was gone, with her, Simon and Francis.

There were no whispers, no static noises of ghosts. For the first time since I had arrived in France, it was quiet. The Problem had melted away like snow.

Sitting up, I smiled. "Anthony, we did it."

He didn't answer. Crawling across the floor, I knelt beside his still body. It really was impossibly still. And it was then, that I noticed that his neck was in an impossible angle.

I had seen many corpses in my time as an agent but this one destroyed me.


	17. Epilogue

We returned to Portland Row the following week. Funeral arrangements were made; the city of London stopped to honor young A.J. Lockwood's death. The family plot was now full, not an empty grave in sight.

Kipps, George, Holly; they all moved on. They slipped away from my thoughts for many years. Portland Row felt empty, just Asha and I.

But we made do. I worked with DEPRAC and later, Scotland Yard. Portland Row was passed over to Lockwood and Co. after Anthony's death, giving us a place to live.

Every day, I relished that I could live my life for him. I lived my life, knowing he had lived his. I took every breath with a purpose knowing he had breathed his last. I cried every tear, laughed every laugh, and burned every rage, not just for myself but for him. Sometimes I thought I saw him out of the corner of my eye, doodling on the thinking cloth. Thought I heard his laugh in the stillness of the night. Part of me, the human side, wanted him to come back, but the rest of me, the rational side, the agent side, knew it wouldn't be the same. He wouldn't be Lockwood.

So I pushed through, pushed forward. I survived. And sometimes, just for old time's sake, just to relive the memories, I would wander London at night.

The chill was still there, the ghosts were not. Mist curling at my feet, and the whispers of friends at my heels. And for once, I didn't wish my demons away.

They were friendly demons, after all.


	18. Acknowledgements

**Acknowledgments!**

 **I started writing this story in August 2018. I had a lightbulb moment on the couch of my hotel in Orlando, Florida, where I was on vacation with my family, watching supernatural hunters on the travel channel. I was thinking of Lockwood, and Lucy and what happened to them. What happened to the Problem? And would it ever come back? I thought to myself, France has a lot of potential for ghosts, with the revolutions and world wars. Then the light flickered on and Spreading Shadows was born.**

 **I have many people to thank for getting Spreading Shadows to where it is today. First of all, my sister, Chloe, who always encouraged my fanfiction and beta read for me in the early stages of Haunting of Chadwick Curator and later, the first few chapters of Spreading Shadows. I can thank my cohort in culinary school for inspiring many witty conversations. I appreciate my communications professor, who let me sit in the back of her class and,unbeknownst to her, write chapters of fanfiction.**

 **I also would like to thank the town of Edenton, North Carolina for being a spooky inspiration.**

 **My most heartfelt thank you goes to every user on , every guest and wanderer of the internet who stumbled their way into my corner of creativity, and read my stories. You are all wonderfully kind, exceptionally generous with your time, and I cannot thank you enough.**

 **One last shameless plug to my Tumblr, where I am updating regularly and trying out a few original pieces.**


	19. Hey Dudes!

Hey guys! Just popping in here to tell you that a new and revised version of Spreading Shadows is now on Wattpad. You can read this story all over again and also, maybe with new chapters? Who knows. I don't.

If you want, please do check it out. Also, I got an Instagram, the same username. You can watch me epically fail at Nanowrimo!


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